Still Conscious
by the crooked typewriter
Summary: The battle had been won, but it was far from being over. Recovery road seems a lot longer when it comes to Anakin Skywalker.
1. Chapter 1

For Garrett.

 **Still Conscious**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Anakin was one hundred percent conscious.

Which is more than what he could usually say for most of the missions he was sent on by the Council.

He knew they won the battle with few casualties. He had watched Obi-Wan sheath his lightsaber and Ahsoka raise her fist in triumph. He saw his troops blow the last Separatist Tank. Then somehow, Anakin was on the ground. He didn't know how he got there.

Obi-Wan hovered over him like a sun, refusing to let him get up. His hands held Anakin's head, one tight grip over each ear. Numb, tired, and frustrated that he wasn't allowed to check on his men, he huffed out half-hearted answers to Obi-Wan's stream of questions.

"Stay there, Anakin. This is no time to be stubborn," Obi-Wan scolded, but while his voice was stern, his eyes betrayed his emotions. He was terrified.

Ahsoka hovered over him as well, calling over med clones and a stretcher. Kix and Coric, two clones that Anakin felt he saw far too often, appeared in his line of sight. Both wore grim expressions.

Anakin reviewed the battle in his mind once more: _he was standing at the celebration of the droid's retreat, but was on the ground when the transport ships appeared. The victory, the tank, on the ground. Obi-Wan bracing his head._

"Stay there, sir," Kix ordered when Anakin tried to stretch out his tired, tingling limbs. "Sir? General Skywalker, we need you to not. Move. Understand? We've got professionals coming to help." Anakin didn't understand why they were taking such precautions.

"What part of me is hurt?" Anakin's voice urgent. "I can't feel it."

There was a beat of silence.

Obi-Wan "Hmmd," which from many years of experience, Anakin knew wasn't a good sign.

Coric decided to break the silence.

"Sir, you went down with a hit to your back. Remember, sir?"

Anakin remembered no such thing.

"I'm fine, it must've not been bad. I'm still conscious, right? I'm just a bit tired, that's all," Anakin argued. How could he not know that he was injured? Surely, his body would relay the message to his brain that he was in pain. It always did.

Obi-Wan "Hmmd" again.

Anakin wished that Ahsoka would stop biting at her nails. It was making him anxious.

"Stop it, Snips. Don't chew your nails," Anakin said, for the first time turning his head to face her.

And that's when the pain started.

* * *

The professionals landed soon after Anakin was slowly moved onto the stretcher. Even with using the force, Obi-Wan could not painlessly move Anakin.

Anakin now knew why Kix and Coric kept warning him not to move.

Every movement, every twitch he made that involved his spine, made lightning-hot pain lace through his body. He was panting hard, trying to keep the burning, pinching sensation to himself _. Ahsoka shouldn't see him like this. Ahsoka needed to see him be strong._

"Anakin, let the darkness come. Don't fight it," Obi-Wan coaxed, trying to get Anakin to relax, and to stop whatever horrid twitching movement Anakin's body kept producing. The twitching ensued an onslaught of agony stemming from Anakin's back, which would make him twitch harder. It was a vicious cycle.

Obi-Wan felt quite useless against it.

The professionals soon crossed the abandoned battlefield and surrounded Anakin, pushing the others out of the way. They pinned Anakin down and started standard first-responding procedures. Kix growled.

"I did that already! Move on from his heart rate and get him on your ship!"

The medics, while hostile from the clone's outburst, complied, lifting Anakin carefully and moving him toward the ship.

It wasn't until then that Obi-Wan noticed Anakin's young Padawan was still there. Her eyes were wide. Her fear was tangible.

"Ahsoka, there is no need to be afraid. Anakin is in pain, but the healers are well trained. He will pull through. There is no need to be worried," Obi-Wan said, ushering the Padawan to their own ship. "And when he recovers, we will be the first people there to greet him."

The girl nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but muse how similar the Padawan and her Master were when it came to things like this.

Ahsoka couldn't help but think that Master Obi-Wan was wrong.

Through her bond with Anakin, she could feel glimpses of his pain, and it tore her heart apart. And while she had gotten used to seeing her Master with a broken limb or two, a broken _spine_ was a whole other level of scary.

People become paralyzed with less of a hit than what he took.

If he…no, she couldn't think about that.

Obi-Wan boarded the waiting ship with Ahsoka close to his side. Captain Rex was there, helmet off and guns disposed of. He stood when they entered.

"General Kenobi, Commander," he greeted. He waited for a second, waiting for Anakin's form to appear. It didn't. "Where's General Skywalker?" he asked after realizing that Anakin was not boarding. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on.

"He took a hit from a stray piece of Separatist tank. The med corps are taking him back to the Halls of Healing. Which is where we plan on going as well. Would you inform the pilot, Captain?"

"Yessir, right away sir," Rex said, turning around to go alert the piloting clone. Before he entered the cockpit, he turned around. "He'll be alright, won't he General?"

"I sure hope so Rex, for all our sakes," Obi-Wan answered.

* * *

Anakin remained painfully conscious throughout the whole ride to the Halls of Healing.

 _"It burns,"_ Anakin hissed, the medics acknowledging him with a cold nod but nothing else. The Force inside him pulsing angrily; a medcorp member had to duck a flying (thankfully empty) blaster that had flung itself into the air.

Anakin wished desperately that Obi-Wan was on the medcorps' ship.

Obi-Wan always made a situation better.

Without the extensive care that the Halls offered, the medics refused treatment until arrival. It was too dangerous to put Anakin out with drugs, too dangerous to operate or numb anything more than standard procedures. That simply meant that they asked Anakin to be able to grin and bear it until he fell unconscious on his own. Which his body stubbornly refused to do.

His body kept shuddering, reacting to the pain violently. Yet, the extent of injury he was facing hadn't quite registered. The burning, the heaviness in his limbs, the medics reaction all meant it was bad…though it all felt dream-like. Detached.

Anakin thought that he would be content if it always felt this way. He could live with the convulsing, burning, and heaviness; just not mind-crippling pain. As long as his head was clear, he could handle it.

The pilot called out "Fifteen klicks away, sir!" to the waiting passengers, who let out a collective sigh. _Thank the Force_ , Anakin thought, shoulders drooping from both exhaustion and relief _._

The short distance to the Halls of Healing was a very good thing, indeed.

Anakin was still conscious when they entered the atmosphere.

He was still conscious when the ship landed gently on the landing platform of the Jedi Temple.

He was conscious when Master Healer Che greeted him grimly.

He was conscious when the med corp rushed him through the Temple and into the Halls of Healing, and he was aware of every bouncing step they took. Watching the ceiling fly by made him dizzy, but every time he tried to close his eyes he'd get a snappy remark from a medcorp member to stay awake.

Master Che walked gracefully along side of the stretcher and Skywalker, ordering different things to be prepared and scolding Anakin at the same time.

Vokara Che was not a woman of comfort. She was a woman of action. And being a woman of action, it bothered her that no matter how much or how quickly of action she took, sometimes there was nothing she could do.

This seemed like one of those times.

A bacta tank could fix the problem quickest, but it was not a risk that she was willing to take. If Anakin's spine healed in the wrong place, it would have devastating effects to the Jedi. She had never done extensive research on paralysis, and what could be done about it…but she had a feeling that research such as that would be what her night consisted of. That, and keeping the young man still.

When Anakin saw the bright white emergency room's ceiling come into view, he couldn't help but grimace. The immediate transfer to the emergency room made his hopes crash brilliantly. In his mind, Anakin heard Obi-Wan's even voice, coaching him to relax and give his worries away to the Force. He imagined him shouting after him as he rolled through the last set of doors that quarantined him from the rest of the galaxy that he would be fine, and that Obi-Wan would be waiting with a good book when he was brought to a room. When Anakin twisted his gaze to look for the figure he assumed would be beside him though, there was only medcorp.

The very thought that Obi-Wan might not be there for him when he was in pain made his stomach twist.

Anakin felt the room swirl as he was lifted carefully off of the stretcher and into the air, hovering facedown above an operation table. His heart jumped into his throat.

 _Surgery._

Where was Obi-Wan now?

Vokara Che did not waste any time. With the knowledge that all of the testing had been done beforehand by the med corp, she lowered Anakin onto the operation table and strapped him in: a brace for his neck, braces for his arms, and braces for his legs. Not that they would do much but steady him. She was quite aware of the young man's affect on the room's objects when he was in pain. Sometimes, she was on the receiving end of his incredible, accidental powers.

She was not one to coddle her patients, either.

"Anakin Skywalker," Master Che began. "This surgery is not going to be a pleasant one. You are to try and control yourself as much as possible, for each movement made endangers your ability to walk. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master Che," Anakin managed. With only the ability to stare straight at the floor, the galaxy was becoming more frightening with each passing second. He had no way of knowing when they would begin, no way to anchor himself to reality. The neck brace made it so that he could not move to the right or left. He was already starting to get anxious.

"Good. I will be giving you a simple anesthetic," Master Che stated. Already, Anakin felt the familiar pinch of a needle going into his skin. "And then, we will begin."

Anakin felt the needle leave, and he braced himself for the worst.

Despite the hour-long surgery to fuse his spine together, and the anesthetic given, Anakin remained conscious.

* * *

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, along with Captain Rex arrived on Coruscant fifteen minutes after Anakin went into surgery.

Obi-Wan felt the moment Anakin was cut open, and through an attempted hidden grimace from Ahsoka, Obi-Wan knew that she felt it too. It bothered Obi-Wan why they could feel Anakin in pain. Surely, if the med corp was to perform surgery, they would have put him under…

Ahsoka was anxious. She bit at her nails, chewing away at raw fingers, wishing that she was by her Master's side. She hardly realized that she had chewed her nail to the quick, and blood was starting to pool.

 _"Stop it, Snips. Don't chew your nails."_

Ahsoka's eyes went wide.

She felt a burst of pain come through her bond. Then it ebbed away. Obi-Wan looked at her, his expression hard to read.

"Shall we sit in the corridor, then?" Obi-Wan suggested.

Ahsoka nodded, following him into a large sunlit hallway with four chairs in a semicircle. Obi-Wan sat down in one of them, and Ahsoka followed his lead.

Obi-Wan gazed around the corridor fondly.

"I have spent far too much time here," he joked. Ahsoka didn't laugh. "It feels like yesterday when I sat here for the first time, waiting for Anakin to return to me." That sparked Ahsoka's interest.

"What had happened, Master?" she asked. Obi-Wan smiled.

"I had recently told the counsel that I would take Anakin on as my padawan. My master's – Master Qui Gon's – death was still fresh in my memory. I had taken Anakin out for a walk around the gardens when some sort of trap had been sprung. There was an explosion, and we were caught on the edge of it. I was hardly harmed, but Anakin had broken his arm in four different places. He was delirious with pain.

Nevertheless, Anakin first made sure that I was fine before he passed out. I was scared, truly, I was. I had lost my Master, and I thought for sure that I was to lose my Padawan as well. Master Che came and took him away. I had shouted at her, stormed the Halls of Healing and ordered the staff to take me to Anakin's room. They would not let me near him. Instead, they dragged me here. I sat for an hour, then two. No one came to get me to say he was awake. I was in this very chair when I thought that I learned to let go. I had convinced myself that I was willing to let the Force take Anakin from me. Now here I am, how many years later, still unable to do so?"

Ahsoka sat in silence, listening to Master Obi-Wan's story. She would have never guessed that the calm man in front of her had yelled at the medcorp and had to have been dragged away. She pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head back on the chair.

"I'm frightened, Master. What if he…isn't the same when he wakes?" she asked. Obi-Wan stroked his still dirt-streaked beard.

"I do not want to make any promises I cannot keep," Obi-Wan started. "But your master is the most stubborn person I know. If he can't remain the same through a time like this, I'm not sure who could."

* * *

Anakin wished desperately for a break from the pain.

After hundreds of brisk answers of "its too risky" to Anakin's plea's for drugs, Anakin was about to the point where he thought that it _was_ worth the risk.

But he didn't have much say in the matter.

Master Che had explained to him that she had never dealt with paralysis before. She would be scouring the medical files tonight, and if no answers were there, she would meditate to explore some possibilities. Until she came back with an answer, he was not to move.

"Do I make myself clear, Skywalker?" she said.

Anakin moaned softly before answering: "Yes, Master." He sure was sick of having to stare at the floor.

Master Che must have sensed what he was feeling.

"Should I send in Master Kenobi? Or would you rather be alone?" she asked, although no doubt she knew the answer.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin answered, hastily adding a _thank you_ and a _Master Che._

Vokara Che still wore her signature grim face, though Anakin could not see it.

"Do not thank me yet, Skywalker," she said. Then she turned on her heel, walking out the door to get Kenobi.

Obi-Wan was not Vokara's favorite person, though she tolerated him like many Jedi. Most of it came from his paternal instincts he had when it came to Skywalker. It simply was not the Jedi way. Yet sometimes, she felt herself experiencing the same feelings.

She never imagined herself getting as close to a patient as she was to Skywalker.

He was still so young, and yet he was constantly dragging his sorry self into her office with some other injury he expected her to miraculously heal. Her most frequent visitor—she practically _reserved_ a bed for him in the Halls.

Which brought her back to Obi-Wan.

She did not even ask for his whereabouts, she simply strolled through the Halls until she reached a familiar corridor. Lo and behold, there was the man, and alongside of him was a young girl with a Padawan braid clinging onto her scalp.

 _Oh, so now young Skywalker gets to be the Master?_

This was something new.

When Obi-Wan sensed Master Che's arrival he stood to greet her. Vokara nodded his way, but her eyes stayed on Ahsoka. A smirk flitted about her features. Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

"Master Che, it is good to see you. This is Ahsoka Tano, Anakin's Padawan. Ahsoka, this is Master Healer Che. She has been healing Anakin since he arrived here at the Temple."

"It's good to meet you, Master," Ahsoka said politely. Obi-Wan, satisfied with the greeting, went on to what he was really interested in.

"How is Anakin?" he asked. Vokara's smirk faded.

"His condition has not been improving. We had fused his spine back together with plates. In time, and with the proper research, I am willing to experiment with Force-fusion. If I fail to do so, Anakin's paralysis will be...lasting."

Obi-Wan had to sit back down.

Ahsoka let out a gasp.

 _Anakin. Paralysis. Permanent._

Obi-Wan sat for a minute, gaining his composer once more.

"Take me to him, please," Obi-Wan pleaded. Master Che inclined her head, and started walking back the way she came. Ahsoka stood as well, wanting to follow.

"Master Kenobi, please, let me come too." Ahsoka sounded desperate.

"No, young one. Stay here. I will return," Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt, but did not change his mind. Obi-Wan had a suspicion that Anakin wouldn't want her to see him as he was at the moment.

He just hoped that he would return to the girl with good news, and not bad.

Anakin sensed his old Master's presence long before he entered the room.

He resisted the urge to turn his head in anticipation, knowing that what Master Che had told him. Instead, he stared at the floor dutifully, reaching out with the Force to find his Master's whereabouts.

When he heard the door slide open, Anakin could have just about cried, he was so relieved. _Everything would go back to normal now. Obi-Wan was here, and so that meant everything was going to get fixed._

"I've heard that you haven't been as much trouble for Master Che as you usually are," Obi-Wan teased. Anakin tried to get a glimpse of Obi-Wan out of his peripheral vision.

"I could say the same to you, Master. No kicking and screaming this time, I hope?" Anakin countered, his voice strained and cracking.

Obi-Wan didn't laugh, only answering softly: "No, no tantrums on my side of the spectrum." Anakin sensed his former Master walking towards him, then kneeling down. "How are you feeling, Anakin?"

Master Che spoke up. Anakin hadn't realized she had entered the room. "Before I leave you two to go scour the medical files, I would like to give the report to Obi-Wan without prying ears," Master Che said motioning for Obi-Wan to exit the room once more. "Now that you're anxieties have been satisfied."

Anakin sensed Obi-Wan nod, and they stepped outside. Focusing with all his will, Anakin zoned in on their conversation.

"…Skywalker is suffering from a T-11 spinal fracture. This is affecting his lower body, mostly his pelvis down, but also affecting some of his lower back. An injury like this usually results in paraplegia." Anakin heard Obi-Wan suck in a deep breath. "He has no voluntary control of his bowel nor bladder and will require manual assistance until his spinal fusion has healed properly. I am not a wishful thinker, Kenobi, but I am still holding out hope for Skywalker's ability to walk. I have confidence in the Force," Master Che finished the briefing, and without another word, she walked away.

"Now go in there and coddle him, Kenobi. Force knows you want to," Master Che shouted over her shoulder. Anakin didn't need to focus to hear that.

Obi-Wan stepped inside the door, and it coolly slid shut behind him.

"Oh, Anakin," Obi-Wan said breathlessly. " _Paraplegia._ "

Anakin cursed the straps that bound his arms to the table.

His tears dripped loudly onto the floor, unhindered.

Obi-Wan placed a shaking hand over his mouth. _Anakin, the Chosen One, paralyzed from the hips down._ He had seen many Jedi wounded over the years; but, every time one was injured, a period of time with Vokara would be able to repair the damage enough guarantee the Jedi a relatively normal life.

But _paraplegia._

Obi-Wan slowly looked down to where Anakin's head rested. A small puddle was forming underneath Anakin's nose.

Anakin was crying.

Obi-Wan sent up a silent prayer to the Force to keep him strong.

"M-master," Anakin choked out. "M-mas-ster I'm-m so sc-cared." He tried to control himself, give his worries away to the Force, stop the body-wracking sobs. "F-f-force _everything burns."_ The realization hit him like a slap to the face.

 _Obi-Wan couldn't fix this._

 _Obi-Wan was helpless._

And now, Anakin was also. Manual assistance, even when visiting the 'fresher? His freedom was slipping out of his grasp.

"Anakin, you have every right to be scared," his Master said gently. He wished desperately that he could see his Master's face, make sure it was actually him – that he was actually there. "But fear leads to the Dark Side. You need to…" Obi-Wan's sentence faltered, then ended completely.

"I d-don't want t-to be paralyzed. The council w-won't-t keep a defec-cted Jedi Kn-night. What-t's gonna h-happen to Ahsoka?" Anakin couldn't help himself. Fear coursed through his every vein. Obi-Wan stayed frustratingly silent. "M-master, don't you c-care? I can't b-be a Jedi anymore! They'll send me back to Tatooine! I'll be a s-slave again!"

Obi-Wan could almost hear his own heart shatter. Anakin continued to cry, though his outburst seemed to be over. Obi-Wan knew that Anakin had trouble with giving his worries over to the Force, and meditation was not something Anakin excelled at. The shouting seemed to help, and for once, Obi-Wan didn't mind.

Obi-Wan looked around the room before coming upon what he desired. He stood from his kneeling position and crossed the room, grabbing the small object.

Anakin's voice was barely audible.

 _"You're leaving me?"_

If Obi-Wan's heart wasn't already crushed, those words would have done the trick.

Obi-Wan knelt again, placing the object underneath the table and in Anakin's line of sight before he took hold of Anakin's limp hand.

"Never, Anakin. I will _never_ leave you. _Ever._ Not if you're paralyzed, not if you're no longer a Knight, and not if they send you to the far reaches of the galaxy. You have my word, I will be right by your side _no matter what_ ," Obi-Wan finished, knowing that those were the truest words he could have spoken.

Anakin's eyes focused on the mirror now beneath him. He saw the determined look in his Master's eyes, and found that comfort was beginning to find him. That, and perhaps sleep.

"Thank you, Master," Anakin's lips trembled with relief.

Obi-Wan smiled, squeezing Anakin's hand.

"Now sleep, Anakin. I will be here when you wake."

Anakin, still hiccupping from his bout of crying, grumbled, "Don't wanna sleep." The opposite was true. He knew that Obi-Wan could tell he was lying.

"Would you like me to help?" Obi-Wan had done simple healing trances many times with Anakin. It had become almost a nightly practice during some parts of Anakin's life.

"If-f you would be so kind," Anakin replied.

Anakin watch in the mirror as Obi-Wan's hand came closer to him. His forehead was touched, and he could immediately feel tendrils of Force wrapping around him. He grasped at them, pulling them closer to his body.

And finally, beautiful unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Anakin wished that he would just fall into unconsciousness.

The oblivion, hyperspace, a pit; anything would do.

Anything to get away from the awful embarrassment.

Obi-Wan stood behind him, learning the last step in the "Anakin's Bowel-Movement Training." Obviously, Anakin had to have someone help, but he would have taken a medcorp, or Master Che herself, as opposed to his Master.

The process was simple enough. Anakin had to relieve himself somehow, and his muscles from his hips down were paralyzed. That included _every_ muscle. Until his spine healed enough for him to be able to twist around, someone had to do the work for him. The back brace he wore covered only small sections of his upper and lower chest, and most of his back to his shoulder blades. His tunic was open and pulled away. That left nowhere to hide, and absolutely no where left for the imagination.

While he couldn't always _feel_ what they were doing, he could hear the commentary. And the _sounds…_

Finally, _finally,_ Master Che snapped off her gloves.

"Unless you have any more questions, Kenobi, Skywalker can turn back onto his back, then we'll get him into his chair and to the 'fresher before we have another accident, _hm?_ " Master Che said. Anakin blushed. The 'accident' wasn't his fault: the medcorp trainee not only pumped him with too much of the medication, but he also couldn't move Anakin to the 'fresher in time for Anakin to lift himself onto the toilet. Entirely the trainee's fault.

It had been nearly three weeks since the initial injury, and while the pain was becoming tolerable, the embarrassment was only getting worse. No matter how strong of medication they put Anakin on, he could tell when Obi-Wan was grossed out, or a medcorp took pity. He hated how much he relied on people, and how much he couldn't feel—he couldn't feel his feet or his knees. He couldn't feel when he had to piss or crap. It was like his body was retaliating because of how much he could feel around him from his Force sensitivity.

 _Pretty pitiful that I can feel when someone's lying to me,_ Anakin grumbled to himself. _But I can't feel when I have to take a leak._

Anakin grunted, finding Vokara's disapproving stare unwavering from his nearly-naked body. No, perhaps he _would_ take his Master over this unflinching woman.

Obi-Wan took off his own gloves just like Master Che instructed. He watched as Vokara left, leaving the two men alone. The room reeked of sanitation. Yet, it was better than what it could smell like.

Obi-Wan hadn't sat down in more than 48 hours.

He didn't know why he did it to himself: out of guilt, perhaps? Because Anakin might never stand again, so why should he take the ability to stand for granted? He wasn't sure why he couldn't let this go to the Force. The injury that Anakin sustained was in no way his fault…or was it?

Obi-Wan wasn't sure anymore.

He was stirred out of his thoughts when Anakin made a grunting noise, trying to turn himself onto his back without Obi-Wan's help. Since Anakin had long been moved into a more accommodating room, handlebars were placed in various places so that Anakin could do as much as possible alone. Nevertheless, the back brace that Anakin wore prevented much of that desired independence. Obi-Wan helped Anakin along with the Force, lessening the weight that Anakin had to lift in order to adjust himself accordingly. By the time he was positioned on his back, Anakin had broken a sweat.

"Well, Master," Anakin grumbled. "Better get going before I explode."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "For once, I agree with your urgency."

Obi-Wan once again called on the Force to help Anakin into his wheelchair. For a reason unknown to Obi-Wan, Anakin refused to use a hover chair.

 _"This is just better,"_ was all he said when asked about it.

Once Anakin was settled into the chair, Obi-Wan tried took hold of the handles to push him through the room and into the 'fresher. Anakin swatted his hands away.

"I can do this, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan obliged, letting Anakin wheel himself into the small room. Anakin's tongue stuck out slightly, a sign of concentration, as he angled himself to the toilet, grabbed ahold of the handles, and lifted himself onto the seat. He smiled victoriously at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan smirked, impressed at how far his former Padawan had come in the last three weeks.

Still, not all of the progress was good.

Anakin was losing a lot of weight. He ate very little, and because of the treatment for his bowels, put out more than he took in. Vokara had assured him it was all normal, and that Anakin would gain the weight back through eating and muscle work in due time.

What wasn't normal was his stubbornness.

Anakin refused to take a bath or shower.

Vokara insisted Anakin would need help while in the process; Anakin argued that he was a grown man, and he wouldn't be coddled. When Vokara didn't change her standpoint, Anakin flat out refused to enter the tub at all.

"I am _not_ going to let anyone scrub me down like I'm a youngling. If I take a bath, I'm doing the whole thing. By myself."

Of course, Vokara was not going to back down, and nor was Anakin. So, Anakin simply hadn't cleaned himself since the battle itself.

Sanitation smell was certainly a blessing, because Obi-Wan was quite sure if it was taken away he would be knocked off of his feet from the Jedi Knight's stench.

Obi-Wan closed the 'fresher door slightly, letting Anakin have a sense of privacy. Then, he waited.

Silence.

Obi-Wan resisted opening the door to check and see if everything was all right. He knew that Anakin needed to have _something_ he could do alone, just to keep his confidence in tact.

"Blast it, Master, it didn't work!" Anakin shouted. Obi-Wan, taking that as his cue, stepped back into the 'fresher.

"Of course, as soon as I'm involved, even your bowels develop your stubbornness," Obi-Wan said. It made Anakin snort.

"I've never _not gone_ yet, Obi-Wan. You better get Master Che."  
Obi-Wan nodded, letting Anakin lift himself back into his wheelchair by himself, but taking the handles to guide him back into the room. Obi-Wan felt that something was amiss, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he left Anakin in his wheelchair and went off to find Vokara Che.

Anakin couldn't help but smile when Obi-Wan left. He had put up an act, sure, but only because he felt his favorite presence enter the building.

Padmé.

Anakin could barely contain his excitement. _She was here!_

He grabbed ahold of the wheels on his chair and shoved, moving forward toward the counter where a small mirror lay—the same mirror Obi-Wan gave him so that he could see the world around him for the first week of his recovery.

 _His hair was a mess._

Padmé couldn't see him like this!

Anakin quickly pulled his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the incredible bedhead he was developing. He sensed her presence getting closer, and rolled back to the middle of the room.

If she was playing _I-could-care-less_ , then so would he.

When there was a knock on the door, Anakin's heart jumped into his throat.

"Come in," he said, hoping to sound less excited than he was.

"Ani?"

The door slid open, and Padmé walked into the room carefully. Her eyes fell on Anakin sitting in a metal chair, looking so much smaller than she remembered him being. His hair was long and tangled. There were deep bags under his eyes.

But he was alive.

She sped up her step, tears threatening to fall.

"Oh, Ani, I've missed you!" she cried, falling to her knees and embracing him. Anakin melted into her hug, wrapping his own arms around her and pulling her as close as the chair allowed. It felt so right, after all she had experienced for the past weeks.

She could feel his hot tears soak into her clothing.

"You didn't come for so long…I thought that you'd given up on me," Anakin whispered into her shoulder. Padmé hugged him even tighter.

"Anakin, I will never give up on you. This doesn't change a thing." She heard a grunting noise, and pulled away. "What?" she asked.

"Sorry, Angel," Anakin blushed, "It was too much for my back."

Padmé apologized, kissing his forehead. "I'm sorry, Ani. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it anymore," Anakin interrupted, quickly changing the subject by clearing his throat. "How are you? Where have you been? You've obviously been busy."

Padmé smiled. "Obviously."

Anakin took hold of her hand. "Tell me everything. Your voice is so good to hear, Padmé."

Padmé took a deep breath. "I've been in meeting after meeting for the last three weeks. When the news of your injury reached the Senate, they held an emergency meeting. Of course I had to go, don't give me that look. So I went and the Senate barely had my attention until… they started talking about you. They want to launch a campaign using you as it's main focus—no, more like your _injury_ as the main focus. It'd say stuff like _'The Separatists may have taken my ability to walk, but they couldn't take away my ability to fight"_ and _oh,_ just other irksome things. I couldn't stand for it, but Palpatine refused to let his idea go."

Palpatine? _Palpatine was supposed to be his friend!_

"I've gotta talk to him about this," Anakin said, clenching his fist. Palpatine should be here, sending his condolences or _something,_ not making him some sick version of a poster-Jedi of the war! Padmé gave him a strange look, but it soon melted away.

"It's just good to see you, Anakin. I was afraid you wouldn't… be the same," Padmé admitted. Anakin shrugged.

"I'm not the same. I have to have Obi-Wan help me with everything, I can barely sit up in a chair (this stupid buckle is rubbing me raw), I can't feel anything below my waist—"

Padmé stopped him by pressing her lips to his.

"Good thing you're heart is above your waist," she said, her face still close to Anakin's.

"Good thing," Anakin agreed.

* * *

Obi-Wan returned with Vokara, who was quite grumpy, if you asked him. Yes, he had taken her away from her search through the files, but he felt that it was necessary. Obviously, Vokara thought that it wasn't.

"He's pulling your chain, Kenobi," Vokara huffed as she strolled through the Halls to get to Anakin's room. "He hasn't 'been able to go' many times before. He just wanted you gone for a while."

Obi-Wan didn't respond. That _did_ sound a lot like something Anakin would do. Take advantage of Obi-Wan's discomfort and get his way.

When they reached Anakin's room, Obi-Wan halted. He could sense that Anakin wasn't alone. Vokara, on the other hand, stormed right in.

Vokara Che was not one to be messed with when she was grumpy.

She was so far away from finding the answers—three weeks had gone by and not a file had appeared useful! Then Kenobi marched into her study saying that Anakin _couldn't 'go.'_ She felt as if her crabbiness was justified.

She marched through the door only to find Senator Amidala sitting on Anakin's bed, and Anakin sitting in that confounded metal contraption he preferred over her top-of-the-line hover chairs.

"Skywalker, what is the meaning of this?" Vokara demanded.

Skywalker cleared his throat, motioning from the Senator to Vokara.

"Master Che, this is Senator Amidala. Senator, this is Master Che. You've heard of each other, I'm sure?" Skywalker said, raising an eyebrow. Vokara rolled her eyes.

"Enough with the formalities, Skywalker. You didn't answer my question. What is our _dear Senator_ doing here?"

Skywalker squirmed under her gaze.

The Senator spoke instead. "It is nice to meet you in person, Master Che. I have heard a lot about your gift in healing. I came here to see for myself the condition of the Jedi Knight because of all the talk going on in the Senate. I needed to see him for myself."

Vokara looked from Skywalker to Senator, then back to Skywalker.

"And what do you think?" Vokara asked, her tone changing. "Is he everything that they said he was?"

"No, nothing like it. They said that he was barely alive, nearly incapacitated, and that he was severely depressed. I have found none of those things to be true," the Senator answered. Vokara found herself smirking at the two of them.

"I am glad to hear that the Senate has faith in my healing abilities," Vokara said, sarcasm thick and dripping off her words.

Anakin let out a short laugh. "I'm glad that the Senate thinks that I'm pretty enough to be their poster kid."

Obi-Wan chose that moment to walk through the door, and he understood clearly that he missed some important conversational exchange.

"What do you mean, poster kid? What is going on? Senator Amidala?" Obi-Wan said, utterly confused.

Vokara filled him in.

Then Senator Amidala explained the Senate's decision.

Anakin stayed silent.

"Oh my," was all Obi-Wan could manage. "What do you think of all this, Anakin?"

Anakin shook his head. "I don't plan on having my…injury plastered all over the galaxy as some sort of call-to-arms. I've got to talk to Palpatine."

Vokara nodded. "That can be arranged."

* * *

It had taken a week, but the Chancellor had agreed on a meeting time, and it was to happen in three hours.

Obi-Wan was standing outside of the 'fresher again, and this time, he was prepared when Anakin shouted at him frustratingly that it _'didn't work'_ again.

"Patience! Let the medicine run it's course," Obi-Wan shouted back. He could hear Anakin grumbling under his breath. "What was that?" Obi-Wan joked.

"I don't have _time_ for this! _P-_ Senator Amidala promised to be here any second to help out!" Anakin complained, slumping down in his wheelchair as much as his brace would let him.

Obi-Wan did recall the young lady promising to return to get Anakin ready for the meeting. The goal was to make it so that Anakin looked healthy, which meant that Anakin would finally, _finally_ take a bath. Palpatine wouldn't believe a thing Anakin said if he still had dirt matted in his now dread-like hair.

After what felt like an eternity, the medicine finally worked.

Anakin sensed Padmé's presence nearing the room.

He shouted at Obi-Wan to stall the Senator while he struggled to pull his pants up and tunic on. Both were a cream color – very different than what Anakin preferred—but a much-suggested color from the Senator. Most of the time, Anakin got away from the overall nagging because of his usual distance between the two of them. Today was different: Padmé said that cream made him look tan and healthy, so today he pulled the foreign color over his head and hoisted himself back into his chair.

"Anakin? Are you ready yet?" Obi-Wan asked. Anakin took a look at himself in the 'fresher mirror. He still looked like a wreck, but nothing Padmé couldn't fix.

"Ready," he said, rolling out of the 'fresher. He looked up from his wheels, seeing Padmé standing there with Obi-Wan.

She looked beautiful.

Her face was set into that determined look, hair pulled back in a neat plait to keep it out of her face and a plain dress that flared around her wrists.

"Jedi Master Kenobi, I hope your ready to help," Padmé said, placing her hands on her hips, smiling that irresistible smile. Anakin thought he might melt away from its warmth.

"I am more than ready, Senator. Say the word," Obi-Wan responded.

Anakin didn't like the sound of that.

Padmé rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and tossed her braid over her shoulder. She planned on getting Anakin clean and looking like he hadn't spent the last four weeks of his life laying in bed. She had packed a bag full of supplies ranging from hair gel to boot shine. Anakin was her husband, after all. Whether others knew or not, her reputation as a wife still felt like it was on the line.

So she started with trying to get rid of Obi-Wan.

Anakin admitted that while he could take Obi-Wan helping him with his bowel treatment, having his former Master bathe him was more than he could handle. _Not_ bathing was out of the question now, and she didn't have the patience to let Anakin scrub himself down with a cloth. She decided that she'd just have to bathe him herself.

Which led to her conversation with Anakin she'd had last night.

 _"Obi-Wan can handle a lot of things,"_ Anakin had said, _"But he can't handle puke. All I've got to do is throw up and he's out of here."_

She had protested. _"You're in no shape to pull off a stunt like that. I'll think of something else."_

 _"You're not going to be able to sweet-talk him away!"_

 _"I will if I need to!"_

 _"If we do it my way, then it's a for-sure bet. Your way, it's at best a fifty-fifty chance. Trust me, if there is one thing I know better than you, it's Obi-Wan."_

The plan was to have Obi-Wan turn his back, Anakin pukes his guts, and Padmé sends Obi-Wan to go get Vokara (who had told the pair she was going to be away. Obi-Wan wasn't aware of her planned absence.)

So while Padmé brought Obi-Wan into the corner of the room to "brief" him on the get-Anakin-clean plan, Anakin leaned forward as far as his back brace let him. Then, he stuck his finger in his mouth, pushed, and gaged.

And gaged.

Then he threw up all over the floor.

Obi-Wan _hated_ puke.

He hated the smell, the look, the sound. It disgusted him immensely. And there it was, all over the floor, all over Anakin, all over his bed.

For as little as the young man ate, there was an impressive about of bile.

Padmé shouted at Obi-Wan to get Master Che, and Obi-Wan, not needing much of an excuse to get out of the reek, ran out of the room to get her. He could hear Anakin still dry heaving in the background.

Obi-Wan ran faster.

As soon as Padmé saw Obi-Wan turn the corner, she rushed to Anakin's side with an empty basin, thrusting it into Anakin's arms before another round of retching began. He was panting, mouth parted slightly and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. In between breaths, he croaked a solemn: "S-s-orry Padmé."

After a painstaking amount of time, the heaving stopped and Anakin leaned back, basin still clutched to his chest. He looked up at Padmé sullenly.

"Maybe we should have come up with a different plan," he moaned. "That hurt."

Padmé succeeded in holding back an _I-told-you-so._

Anakin closed his eyes, trying to block the pain in his back and abdomen. He felt wobbly—all jangling nerves and fried muscles. He could still taste the sickly acid in his throat, and it burned his tongue. He tried not to think about it for fear it would start another bout of dry heaves.

When he opened his eyes again, Padmé was looking at him, a small smile on her face. "You are incredible, do you know that?" she whispered. Anakin looked away.

"I just threw up all over the room, and you're calling me incredible?" Anakin said in disbelief. Padmé simply grabbed ahold of the handles of the wheelchair and wheeled him into the 'fresher.

Meanwhile, medcorp nurses were flooding the room, looking at the ground and bed in disgust. Padmé closed the 'fresher door, yelling, "You clean up out there, I'll clean up the patient!" as if she was a medcorp nurse herself. There was some grumbling outside of the door, but no one came to take her job away, so she locked the door and started in on it. Opening her bag of supplies, she pulled out a bottle of hair treatment and a bar of soap. Then a comb, gel, and a new set of clothes.

 _Now, to set up a bath,_ Padmé thought. _He better not change his mind._

When Padmé turned on the faucet, she heard giggling.

Anakin was _giggling_.

Padmé resisted the urge to join him. "What could you possibly think is funny about this situation?" she accused. Anakin just laughed some more, hiding his face in his sleeve.

"What?" Padmé pressed. Anakin's shoulders shook with laughter.

"It-t's funny," Anakin managed though fits of giggles. "I would have drooled over this as a kid, and now I wish that I could hide in a hole."

Padmé shook her head, trying to hide her amusement. "Well, I'm glad you're not drooling now. One more thing for me to clean up."

Anakin laughed harder.

Then he started to twitch.

" _G-ght hurts,"_ Anakin choked. Padmé grabbed onto his shoulders, holding Anakin steady. After a minute, Anakin's body settled down, and the twitching stopped. Padmé brushed his hair out of his eyes and settled her hand on his cheek, which glistened with sweat. His gaze latched onto hers, and slowly he craned his neck toward her, reaching out to embrace her.

"I make it a rule not to get kissed by people who just vomited all over themselves," Padmé only half-joked as she leaned out of his grasp and placed his rogue hands on the armrests of his chair.

"I'm sorry," Anakin mumbled, gaze averted once again.

It was Padmé's turn to laugh. "You have nothing to apologize for, Ani."

* * *

Obi-Wan had no idea where Vokara could be.

All he could sense was Anakin's presence, still in pain, which in Obi-Wan's mind meant still puking. Which meant he was still happy to stay far away.

He checked the Healer's study, and he checked her main office. He even attempted to check the emergency room, which he was quickly ushered out of. She was nowhere to be found. At the moment, Obi-Wan was checking all of the patient-filled rooms he was allowed into. After breaking and entering into twelve or thirteen, he still hadn't found her.

 _Blast that woman,_ Obi-Wan thought as he trudged into another patient's room. To his surprise, it was a clone.

Obi-Wan was prepared to apologize and back out of the room just like he had with the first umpteen rooms, but the clone looked at him and smiled.

"General Kenobi! It's good to see you, sir," the clone said, and tried to stand. Obi-Wan lifted a hand.

"At ease, soldier. No need for formalities now. I'm only looking for Master Healer Che," Obi-Wan said. The clone looked distinctly disappointed, and Obi-Wan felt the need to backtrack. "I'm staying here with General Skywalker, and he is in need of some assistance."

The clone settled back down on the bed, nodding to the thickly bandaged remains of an arm. "Haven't seen her since she wrapped my arm and shot me up with some pain blockers."

Obi-Wan kept an even stare, though his heart pounded at the familiar, telltale signs of an amputated arm. "How did it happen?" Obi-Wan wasn't sure why he asked it. There was no nostalgia hidden within that memory. The clone shrugged lightly, but his expression did not match his nonchalance.

"My arm got crushed during a clean up mission on Malastare. I don't remember much—next thing I new I was hooked up to fluids and lying in a bed. Guess I put up a real fight on leaving, so they transported me here, to the Halls. Master Che promised me a prosthetic like General Skywalker's so that I could go back out on the field in a few months," the clone said, raising what was left of his arm. Obi-Wan grimaced.

"I'm glad to hear that…" Obi-Wan paused. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Leo, sir. They called me Leo in training," the clone, Leo, said. Obi-Wan nodded, placing his hand on the doorknob.

"Leo, may the Force grant you a swift recovery. If you ever need anything, General Skywalker is in room five. I will most likely be there as well, as things go. Don't hesitate to drop by," Obi-Wan said softly. Leo nodded, giving a weary salute as Obi-Wan slipped out the door.

Glancing quickly at the clock in the corridor, Obi-Wan's eyes grew wide.

Almost thirty minutes had gone by, and he still hadn't found Vokara.

* * *

Anakin wasn't sure if he was going to survive this.

He sat silent as the grave as Padmé helped him out of his soaked tunic, then helped him out of his pants. He had taken to not wearing anything underneath for ease and comfort purposes: less clothes on, less clothes to hassle with. Now though, he wished he was wearing _something_ underneath.

Padmé looked him in the eye. "I am your wife," she stated.

"I know." Anakin tried to swallow his pride whole. It left an uncomfortable taste in his mouth. Or, maybe it was still bile.

Padmé turned to dig through her bag, pulling out a small pair of white shorts.

"Here," she said. Anakin stared just stared at them. "Don't tell me you forgot what underwear was."

Anakin shook himself out of his daze. "No, no! I just—"

"It's alright, Anakin. It's fine."

Anakin pulled the white shorts on quickly.

Here came the hard part.

Padmé pushed the chair as close to the tub as she could, then Anakin grabbed onto the handlebars.

"If I fall—" Anakin started. Padmé interrupted.

"I will catch you."

So Anakin gripped the rails with white knuckles while Padmé swung his legs into the hot water. Anakin had no reaction.

And that's when the realization that _Anakin had no feeling in his legs_ almost dropped Padmé to her knees. _Her husband was paralyzed._

"You okay, Padmé?" Anakin asked. She nodded, refocusing on the task ahead.

"I'm fine, Ani. Let's get this over with."

Anakin carefully lowered himself into the bath, hissing when the hot water touched his feeling nerves, then relaxing when he got used to it.

"I shoulda done this sooner," Anakin whispered. "It feels heavenly."

Padmé shook her head, grabbing the bar of soap before returning to Anakin's side. He was already starting to slip deeper into the water, his legs not being able to prop him up. _As soon as he let go of those handles,_ Padmé thought _, he's going to drown._

No wonder Vokara said that he couldn't take a bath alone.

Anakin forced his tight muscles to relax, still all wound up from the battle that seemed so long ago. The water was quickly turning cloudy; Anakin hoped it was from old dirt and sweat, and not that his bowels decided to turn on him.

Padmé started to hum while she worked at the layers of grime caked on Anakin's skin. It wasn't a tune he could recognize—perhaps it wasn't a tune at all—and yet he was completely entranced. He felt like closing his eyes, letting Padmé's voice lull him until he drifted to sleep. Anakin rolled his shoulders, then tried to stretch his legs.

 _Oh._

Anakin slammed his head back in defeat. It hit against the wall with a _thunk._

Padmé stopped humming.

The small bit of dreaming was over.

"Padmé, you know this changes everything, right?" Anakin said gloomily. Padmé raised an eyebrow.

"What changes everything?" she asked. She was rubbing his chest, right above where his back brace ended and his skin was able to breathe again. If she only knew that she was pressing right over where his heart hurt.

"Me being paralyzed. It changes everything."

"No, it doesn't," she corrected, moving down lower, to his abdomen. "You're being dramatic. It doesn't change my feelings for you."

"It changes everything else!" Anakin protested, grabbing her wrist to stop her from her diligent cleaning. She didn't understand, she didn't _get it_. Everything was changing and Anakin was helpless against it.

"We can't, I mean, we won't be able to…you know…" Anakin struggled to make her understand. Padmé stared him down.

"If it isn't right for us to have kids, then it isn't right. The Force works in strange ways, just like Obi-Wan always tells you," Padmé assured him. Anakin didn't get how she could be so calm. _He was failing her! He was failing the galaxy!_

"I can't be a Jedi anymore, I've lost our future, and I've ruined the prophecy!" Anakin cried. "I'm supposed to bring balance to the Force. How can I do that when I can't even balance on my own two feet?" Anakin said, meeting his beautiful wife's eyes. Padmé set down the soap.

"Anakin, we'll do it together. You don't have to face these things alone. I'm here; Obi-Wan is here, your Padawan so desperately wants to help you. Can't you see? You are _so loved_ , Anakin, that no matter what happens, nothing that really matters will change," Padmé pulled back Anakin's wet, soapy hair and kissed his forehead.

 _Nothing that really matters will change_ ; Anakin let it repeat in his head like a mantra, leaning towards Padmé's lips, feeling as though his feet were finally planted on solid ground.

* * *

Obi-Wan returned to Anakin's room covered in sweat and doused in defeat. He hated admitting the mission he was sent on had failed, but he didn't have much of a choice. Vokara was nowhere to be found or seen.

He rapped twice on the door, and a bright "Come in!" ushered him through. What he saw almost made him think he was in the wrong room.

Anakin sat on the edge of his bed _. Clean_.

"Senator Amidala, I am suddenly convinced that you have been dabbling in the Dark Side. How did you possibly get Anakin into that tub?" Obi-Wan asked, wonderfully baffled at the young man smirking back at him in a set of fresh clothes.

The Senator laughed, rubbing Anakin's hair with a towel. Anakin was flinching, and had an incredibly childlike expression on his face, as if to say, _Mom, stop it already!_ Obi-Wan placed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

"He cleans up pretty well, don't you think?" Senator Amidala said. Obi-Wan nodded.

"Very well, I would say. Senator, you are a miracle worker." A miracle it must have been, for the whole room was set and cleaned. The sheets of Anakin's bed had been changed, the floor mopped, and the room back to smelling like sanitation. It was all good news.

Padmé was quite proud of her handiwork.

Anakin sat through his bath without falling asleep, and Padmé cleaned every place she could without causing Anakin too much discomfort. Then, she helped him out of the bath, dressed him in clean clothes, and wheeled him back out to the main room where she proceeded to groom his frizzy locks.

They still had two hours until Palpatine arrived.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "My dear Senator, I'm afraid I could not find Master Che. She doesn't appear to be in the building at all."

Anakin snorted.

Obi-Wan glared. "Nevertheless, I'm glad things got cleaned up here. Are you feeling any better, Anakin? Should I tell the Chancellor that the meeting is postponed?"

"No!" Anakin said, a bit too loudly. "No. I'm feeling much better. I think it was the medication. But now it's all out of my system, right? I'll be fine. This meeting is important to me."

"Very well," Obi-Wan obliged.

Padmé went back to worrying about Anakin's hair.

"Ow _P-_ Senator, please! My hair is fine," Anakin whined. Obi-Wan placed his hand over his mouth once again.

"It's not fine. If you would stop wiggling, then it would go faster," Senator Amidala retorted. Anakin stopped squirming after that.

"I met a clone in the Halls earlier," Obi-Wan started conversationally. "He's receiving a prosthetic arm so that he can rejoin the fight. I told him that if he ever needed anything, to come to your room."

"What?" Anakin yelped, nearly tossing Padmé backwards with a fright. "I can't help him! I've barely got myself under control. Obi-Wan, tell him that I can't help him. He's better off finding someone who isn't _'barely alive, nearly incapacitated, and severely depressed.'"_ Anakin quoted back what the Senator had repeated to him at their first meeting. Truth be told, Obi-Wan had forgotten about the Senate's decided analysis of his young friend.

"Anakin, you doubt your value. Just because you lost movement in your legs doesn't mean that your life is worthless. I have a feeling you'll come out of this whole ordeal wiser than Master Yoda himself," Obi-Wan said, placing a hand on Anakin's shoulder. Anakin shared a weary smile.

"Either that, or I'll come out of this more annoying than ever, and will be unconscious due to a blow to the head," Anakin joked.

Secretly, Anakin hoped it was the first option.

He didn't want to be unconscious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Anakin was very conscious of the fact that Palpatine was a powerful man.

Palpatine had all the cards in his favor. Anakin realized that, but it didn't make him want to back down. The Chancellor was his friend, and friends listen to each other, even when the other has a clear advantage.

At least, Anakin hoped that's what would happen.

Padmé did an incredible job making him look presentable. His hair was back to its normal color and texture; his clothes were clean and crisp. He didn't smell like the battlefield and sweat anymore. He felt about brand new.

Until Padmé told him he had to wear shoes.

"What! Why? I don't have any use for shoes. My feet never touch the ground!" Anakin protested. Padmé wouldn't budge.

"You are wearing shoes. You want to come across as 'normal?' Well, I'd like to remind you that _all normal beings wear shoes._ "

Anakin mumbled under his breath, but didn't argue.

Padmé pulled the boots onto Anakin's feet.

Obi-Wan crossed the room, went into one of the cupboards, and pulled out a small wrapped package. He gave it to Anakin, who gave Obi-Wan a wary look before unwrapping it.

It was his lightsaber.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan, not sure whether he was mad that Obi-Wan had kept it from him for so long, or to be thankful that Obi-Wan trusted him with it.

During his first week of recovery, Anakin had been told of the suicide rates for beings that became paralyzed. Master Che didn't have to say the message behind her story. He understood it.

Anakin felt that trust was finally going both ways.

Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully.

So Anakin had gotten his message.

Obi-Wan had been nervous about Anakin's state of mind ever since the conversation the day of his surgery. He knew that Anakin was more prone to emotions than other Jedi. Anakin himself had admitted how hopeless his situation felt. To place a weapon as dangerous as a Jedi's light saber in the hands of someone who had no will to live was…unthinkable. Thankfully, Anakin had never asked for his beloved weapon. Obi-Wan wouldn't have been prepared to answer.

Anakin cleared his throat, clipping his light saber onto his belt, frowning as he couldn't feel it's familiar, comforting weight.

"Any last minute tips?" he asked, turning his attention from his weapon to Obi-Wan and Padmé.

"Hold your temper," Obi-Wan instructed.

"Tell it like it is," Padmé added. "The Chancellor is a generous man, he just gets caught up in his work."

Anakin nodded to both people, then gripping the wheels of his chair, rolled past them.

"I swear, if I sense either of you eavesdropping—" Anakin yelled back at them as he sped through the corridors and toward the meeting spot.

"May the Force be with you, too!" Obi-Wan said, a bit sarcastically. The Senator laughed, shouldering her large tote.

"Well, Jedi Master Kenobi, I will be off. Would it be alright if I planned on visiting again tomorrow?"

"I believe that Anakin would enjoy that immensely," Obi-Wan replied.

"And what about yourself? Do you mind?"

"My dear Senator, I would not mind a bit. Anakin is always happier when you are around. I do credit you being here to the reason why I'm so sure that he can handle having his lightsaber back."

Senator Amidala blushed. "If anyone can be credited, it's your constant care. He thinks of you like a father, Master Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan smiled nervously.

"He has told me that before. I hope that I am… fulfilling that role. I myself don't have a clear memory of my own father."

"You're doing just fine. Keep Anakin out of trouble until I return," Padmé said, walking to the door. Obi-Wan bowed slightly, and Padmé left without another word.

* * *

Anakin wheeled through hall after hall, his head tucked down. He avoided the curious gazes and whispers of _"Is that Anakin Skywalker?"_ all around him. He had to stay focused. Palpatine was his friend, and friends ultimately want what's best for each other. He would understand his side.

He _had_ to.

He rolled to a stop when he reached a small, well-lit room with large windows. Master Che had set out one chair, and cleared a space for Anakin to park his wheelchair. Anakin didn't sense Palpatine, but it didn't bother him. This way, he could prepare what he had to say one more time.

He closed his eyes, going over his thoughts twice, then three times.

Palpatine still didn't show.

Anakin watched the clock, getting more nervous by the second. What was holding him up? Did he not care?

Anakin was just about to return to his room when the Chancellor stepped into the corridor. He smiled at Anakin, and Anakin inclined his head.

"Chancellor Palpatine, I'm glad that you made it. Please, sit. We have much to discuss," Anakin said graciously. Palpatine crossed the room to sit in the only chair.

"Anakin, I'm afraid we _don't_ have much to discuss. As of this morning, the decision to create the advertisements was made. I am truly sorry, but the Senate's vote was final," Palpatine said, making a tent with his fingers.

Anakin was speechless.

Palpatine had the power to prolong the vote.

 _But he didn't._

Palpatine rose from his seat. "I am sorry Anakin. You are quite innocent in this matter. It's too bad that you've been… _mh_ …broken."

 _Broken?_

Anakin didn't understand what Palpatine was trying to tell him.

"It _is_ too bad, really. You had so much potential…all of us could see it. I shouldn't have stalled for as long as I did. No matter, someone else will come along."

 _Someone else?_

Anakin's jaw worked, at a near loss of what to say. "Chancellor, just because I'm paralyzed doesn't mean we can no longer be friends. I assure you, I'm the same Anakin Skywalker—I just can't stand—"

"No, Anakin," Palpatine interrupted. "You are of no use to me anymore."

 _"What?"_

"Goodbye, Anakin. I truly wish you the best of luck," Palpatine said, walking away. Anakin wheeled after him.

 _There's no such thing as luck._

"Chancellor Palpatine, wait! What are you talking about? _I am not dying!_ I am not incapacitated, and I am not depressed! I may not have everything I use to, but the things that matter most are still here for me. _You're_ here for me," Anakin yelled after Palpatine, who paused in his stride. "Aren't you?"

Palpatine turned around slowly. His demeanor had changed.

Anakin didn't move.

"I was patient with you, Anakin. I nurtured you and took you in as my own. Now look what you've done to yourself!"

"This isn't my fault! It was a Separatist tank that—"

"The Separatist tank should have finished you off!"

Anakin's face burned with shame and his eyes stung with betrayal.

Palpatine shook his head. "I had such grand plans for you. Now, you're worth nothing. Not even the Jedi have use for you now."

Anakin gripped the wheels of his chair.

"You _liar!"_ Anakin screamed. "You told me that you were my friend! My best advisor! The only one that understands! Try to understand me _now,_ Chancellor. Try to understand where I'm coming from, where you want me to go! _I. Am. Still. Anakin_. I don't understand what's changed so much for you to leave me!"

The Chancellor sneered. "No, _you_ don't understand. Foolish boy, foolish Jedi. Foolish galaxy! Not even the Dark Side would stoop low enough to use a reject like yourself."

"How would you know?" Anakin hissed.

The Chancellor reached inside of his robes. Anakin's eyes went wide.

Palpatine pulled out a lightsaber.

"Where did you get that?" Anakin croaked, his confidence gone. Surely, Palpatine wouldn't use it against him, even if he didn't know how to wield it. It wasn't a fair fight.

Palpatine smiled condescendingly. "It is more important where I will put it."

He ignited the saber. Anakin fumbled for his own, igniting it as well.

Palpatine's lightsaber was the color of blood.

Anakin charged, using the Force to push him toward his traitorous friend. The Chancellor stepped to the side, and slashed the back of Anakin's wheelchair in two. Anakin's balance was thrown, causing him to fall backward, off of his wheelchair. He landed with an unforgiving _thump_. The Chancellor tsked.

"So, tell me. What is my little secret, Anakin?"

"You're _a Sith_ ," Anakin spat in disgust. "The Jedi will bring you to justice."

" _Mm,_ only if you're alive to tell them."

Then Palpatine, _his friend_ , brought his lightsaber down on his helpless body.

* * *

Captain Rex had barely let go of the door handle of Halls of Healing when he heard the shouting. Commander Tano stood a few paces ahead. The two zoned in on the noise silently, calculating its direction and distance. Rex locked eyes on Ahsoka, who had gone pale.

"That's Master's voice!" she cried, taking off in the direction of the shouting and igniting her lightsaber in a flash of green. Rex grabbed his guns out of their holsters and ran after her.

'Commander, wait! Don't—" Rex shouted, though he was sure the effort was futile. Ahsoka was out of Rex's line of sight, though the sound of her boots gave him his map. He swallowed hard, hearing the click of his throat over the distant yells and echoes of footsteps. If Ahsoka got stuck in the same trap that General Skywalker was in, Rex would never forgive himself.

Ahsoka _knew_ that something was off.

She picked up on bits of the shouting match, hearing mostly her Master's familiar voice. He sounded frustrated. Desperate. Weak.

"Try to understand me now, Chancellor. Try to understand where I'm coming from, where you want me to go! _I. Am. Still. Anakin_. I don't understand what's changed so much for you to leave me!" Anakin shouted at…the Chancellor? Chancellor Palpatine?

Ahsoka ran faster.

"No, _you_ don't understand. Foolish boy, foolish Jedi. Foolish galaxy! Not even the Dark Side would stoop low enough to use a reject like yourself," the Chancellor responded. Ahsoka turned a corner, holding her lightsaber in a ready stance as she ran. _Thank the Force for this echo._

She heard Rex shouting at her from behind.

"How would you know?" There was a pause. _"Where did you get that?"_

"It is more important where I will put it."

Ahsoka's eyes went wide.

There was a sound of two light sabers igniting.

As she rounded the last corner and ran through the last hallway, Ahsoka heard slashing, lightsaber hitting metal, then a muffled groan as Anakin hit the ground.

"So, tell me. What is my little secret, Anakin?"

"You're _a Sith_. The Jedi will bring you to justice."

 _"Mm,_ only if you're alive to tell them."

Ahsoka sped into the room just as Chancellor Palpatine's red light saber connected with Anakin's left shoulder.

Anakin let out a scream that pierced her heart.

Ahsoka screeched a battle cry as she attacked the Chancellor with her lightsaber, twisting away from his jabs and slashes. Rex was close behind her, letting loose shots at the Chancellor. Palpatine deflected them easily. Ahsoka's attack was relentless, and her anger was fierce. Here was a man that Anakin trusted. Anakin's trust was hard to get, and he took advantage of him. It made her seethe.

"Your anger is strong! Use it, _yes_ , let it fuel your fighting!" the Chancellor cackled. Ahsoka turned to Rex, nodding his way, before he slipped outside of the door. She sensed him calling for help. Hopefully, Obi-Wan could already feel what was happening and was on his way. She wasn't sure how much longer she could—

Ahsoka screamed.

White-hot lightning crackled around her, eating away her every thought but pain. The Chancellor had sheathed his lightsaber, using both of his hands to channel white-hot lightning. Ahsoka's teeth ground together, calling on the Force to keep her strong for her Master's sake.

Rex returned to the fight only to see Ahsoka's body contorting in pain, surrounded by lightning. Rex aimed his gun and fired.

It hit the Chancellor's palm.

The lightning stopped, as the Chancellor assessed the damage. A wicked grin spread across his face and Rex saw with sickening certainty that it had done no harm.

Then the webs of blue returned, engulfing Rex as well. He yelped as it made his skin burn and his insides ignite.

Through the haze of pain, Rex saw Anakin, one arm gripping his lightsaber, the other holding his shoulder, prop himself off the ground. He swayed unsteadily, then with one last effort, swung his light saber at Palpatine's feet.

Both men collapsed.

Rex and Ahsoka did also.

"Chancellor Palpatine, stand down." The voice belonged to Master Windu. Alongside of him stood Master Kenobi, Master Yoda, and a full squadron of clones filed into the small room. The Chancellor sneered, but did not take back up his sheathed lightsaber.

Instead, the window was smashed with a blast from the Force, and Chancellor Palpatine leapt out of it and into a waiting ship. Master Windu cursed, and ordered most of the clones to follow him. Master Yoda followed as well, hot on Palpatine's trail. With a few sharp words called over Windu's shoulder as he fled the scene, Master Kenobi sheathed his lightsaber and took up damage control.

Anakin lay on his back, breathing hard.

Ahsoka gathered up her remaining strength and dragged herself over to his side, pressing her hands onto his shoulder when she saw the massive amount of blood on his cream tunic, despite the ability of a lightsaber to cauterize the wound immediately.

"Master? Don't move, okay? I'm sure medics are coming," Ahsoka said. Anakin's face was pale, and his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"He was my friend, Snips. _He believed in me_ ," Anakin whispered. Ahsoka shook her head.

"A friend wouldn't do that to a friend. He was using you, Master. We're going to stop him from abusing anyone else. Master Windu and Master Yoda are going to find him, you'll see."

Anakin's chin trembled _. "I was so blind."_

Master Obi-Wan appeared by her side. "Master Che is coming, Anakin. Hold on for a little while longer."

Anakin's mechanical hand weakly reached out to grab Master Kenobi's steady one. "He said that…that the Separatists should have f-finished me off when they had the chance," Anakin murmured. Master Obi-Wan's eyes went wide.

It couldn't have been the only thing Palpatine said to him— _Force_ , Obi-Wan had allowed them almost twenty minutes alone. That was plenty time enough to grow the demons inside of Anakin's heart. He had made such impressive strides to outrun his grief and anger…it made Obi-Wan sick. He should have been there with him. He should have eavesdropped like he had desperately wanted to. He should have been there for his friend, Padawan, brother.

Obi-Wan gripped Anakin's hand like a lifeline.

If Anakin gave up now…he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Rex stood up shakily behind them.

"Is'sa General…alright?" Rex said, swaying on his feet. "I…I'm sorry, General Kenobi. I couldn't..." Rex fell back on his knees.

"Captain Rex, you did all that you could. Without you, I doubt that my Master and myself would be alive right now," Ahsoka said, her voice sincere.

"I'm not out of the woods yet," Anakin mumbled. Ahsoka pulled her hands away. They were covered in Anakin's blood.

"Skywalker, you are not allowed to die after I have done all of that research."

It was Master Che.

 _Thank the Force._

* * *

Vokara worked fast, and her medcorp performed admirably. Skywalker was stabilized and sedated, then placed on a hovering stretcher to be taken to a bed where he could receive a blood transfusion, then be transferred into a bacta tank. She was confident that his spine was ready to take the extra movement, and it would be the best way to go about healing the lightsaber wound. She didn't ask questions. She just walked briskly alongside of the stretcher that held Skywalker's injured form.

"This is much too familiar, Skywalker. You need to stop getting yourself into trouble," Vokara commented.

Skywalker moaned softly. "Am I going to be paralyzed from my shoulders down now?"

Vokara snorted. "No, Skywalker. Thank the Force, no. You will retain a full range of motion with the proper rest and treatment."

Skywalker let out a short sigh, sinking deeper into the stretcher. A medcorp member looked at him, then up to Vokara.

"Is he asleep?" he asked peering down at Skywalker's face. It was far from peaceful.

"No," came a quiet response. "I'm awake."

Vokara admired his strength, but rather than making him endure the pain, she offered him a sleep suggestion.

Anakin shoved it away. "Don'n," he whined. "Don' want sleep."

Vokara rolled her eyes. "This is not the time to be stubborn, Skywalker. You are in pain—it's written all over your signature. Do not try and shut this out."

He feebly slapped at the droid hovering around him, keeping a steady watch over his vitals. She offered him a higher dosage to numb the pain. Anakin only blinked in response, the sedative already in affect. Or perhaps it was simply the stubborn young man's body finally giving in to exhaustion.

Just as they reached Anakin's new room for the time being—room 32—the droid began to prep Skywalker for the transfusion. She had his blood type memorized—it was that often he came into the Halls with injury.

Anakin's eyelids began to droop closed. Vokara smoothed his dark blond hair out of his face, then caught herself in the act. _What was she doing?_ Skywalker was just another patient. Just another Jedi who relied on her to keep him alive.

Yet when Vokara Che looked at the young man's face, she knew that he wasn't just any patient. He was different. Though she couldn't depict why she thought that.

"Masser Che?" Anakin slurred. "Don' wanna fall asleep."

Vokara smiled. "Just lose unconsciousness already, Skywalker."

And Skywalker obeyed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Anakin gained consciousness slowly.

All around him was a bluish liquid. He hung suspended amongst millions of tiny bubbles that clung to his form.

Bacta, then.

He recognized the little white shorts and the straps that always dug into his armpits and chest, along with the oxygen mask on his face made his nose itch. Anakin looked up, watching with captivated interest as bubbles floated up to the top of the cylinder.

There was no use banging on the glass or making a scene. If Master Che put him in, then Master Che wouldn't take him out until he was fully healed. He could argue with the Healer all he wanted, but ultimately, _she_ held the controls to the tank.

Anakin squinted his to try and make out the world outside the tank, his mind still numb from unknown drugs. He didn't see Obi-Wan, or anyone else for that matter. The room surrounding him was completely empty. Not even Master Che was in sight.

He huffed. Now he certainly wasn't going to get out any time soon.

Anakin looked down at his feet, only to see another set of straps, like the ones going across his chest. He drifted his hand toward them. _Funny,_ Anakin thought. _I can't feel the straps at all!_

He touched his bare legs carefully.

 _How strange…_

Everything that had happened to him came rushing back.

 _His paralysis. His fight with Palpatine. His wound. Ahsoka. Rex. Obi-Wan._

What mess had he created?

* * *

Rex sat on his hospital bed a week before Anakin had woken in his state of immersion. He fingered his helmet in his hands, tallying each scratch and dent. The biggest scar was a burn—the armor melted slightly—due to the Chancellor's lightning. Rex could barely stand to look at it.

The medical unit hadn't let him see Commander Tano yet, saying they "caught something unusual in his scan." Jedi Healer Master Che had wanted to take a look at it. He didn't blame her. Due to the circumstances, if he saw something weird in one of his men, he'd want to take a look at it too.

Which is how he ended up in a room with a trooper.

His name was Leo. Or RC-1300.

Rex had made the mistake, calling him a "shiny" when he had first met him. Leo had quietly, tiredly, told him right. Both were on such strong drugs that most of what they said got muddled up in the in between.

Rex had apologized—he remembered that—eyes never leaving his helmet.

"M'sorry, kid. That's a real…as a Captain…no one should have to go through that. I can't imagine having a piece of me…gone."

But he could, because being without his General, his Commander…

The two men sat in their respective beds, each waiting to be called on by Master Che. When Leo was taken away by a medcorp member and a hoverchair, Rex sat alone in silence and turned his helmet in his hands.

 _Over, right, left, front, over._

So many scars to remember, rehearse, regret. Rex's muddled brain would lose track, then start again, only to lose his place once more. If the General were there, he would tell him about each one. Thinking out loud was easier, after all, and Anakin was always up in the early morning, red-eyed and messy-haired, freshly haunted by a terror of the night. Rex would be waiting in a practice room in the Resolute, gut wrenching to see his General so human.

Rex worried his bottom lip, thinking in spirals so tightly wound it made his head ache worse. He thought about the General, Commander, Leo, the Master Healer, his brothers still on the field.

He thought of the scan.

 _"The tests are minimally invasive,"_ Master Che had promised as he had gone under, though Rex was glad his head was already shaved.

When Leo had sat beside him he had a head full of hair.

But now, when he was brought back, he didn't.

The tests rang true: whatever they had found in Rex was in Leo as well.

Rex's insides started to squirm.

Not fifteen minutes later did another clone, one Rex knew as Fives, enter the room. He had a grim look on his face.

"I heard they found something in you men, too."

* * *

Anakin keened as another hour ticked by. His hands were poised on the glass as if to break it, he gave a shove with the Force. The cylinder barely crackled under his blow. Frustrated to the point of tears, Anakin slumped against the straps.

Alone with his thoughts was somewhere Anakin didn't want to be.

He had tried yanking at the straps hoping to pull himself out of the tank, but failed. He'd tried to set off an alarm to send in the medcorp, but nothing happened. He had even tried to pull off the oxygen mask. Nothing brought a soul into the room. It felt like he had been in their for days. Maybe he had.

All he knew is that there were a lot of people outside, and none of them were coming in to help him. He felt utterly hopeless.

Then Master Che, _thank the Force_ , marched through the door of his medical prison and started plugging in information into the control panel outside of the tank. He could have sworn that she looked about to fall asleep right there, hands still pressing buttons. A trick of the light, as far as he knew, since she hadn't been in his room and no one else was being permitted to stay overnight. If at least one night had passed, where had Master Che been?

He felt a cold gas seep through the oxygen mask.

It tasted funny on his tongue, making it thick and slow.

Anakin looked up at Master Che, eyes full of terror.

She drugged him.

 _She drugged him!_

One of the only people Anakin would trust with his life, the person who always got him back up and functioning, _drugged him_ when he needed help.

To Anakin's own horror, he found his emotions curdle from disbelief to acceptance.

Another knife in his back. _What more could he expect?_

Vokara tried to pretend that she didn't see the look that Skywalker gave her. It was hard enough as it was, seeing him there, chest bare and ribs showing. She hated it when a patient of hers _looked_ sick. She took the blame for it.

But she had so much to do.

Only ten days had gone by and she had done 1,147 surgeries, removing inhibitor chips installed in the clones, starting with the clones that seemed to be having the strongest reactions to it. Each one had come to her—except the beginning two clones—saying that they were experiencing a "tugging in their mind." Because of the circumstances, she worked tirelessly to try and remove as many of the chips as possible. Other facilities were doing the same.

Rumor had it that some clones had already been "set off." Some have been found mysteriously dead.

Vokara didn't want anyone else to end up with that same fate.

The chip was traced back to Palpatine through Obi-Wan, who was sent to Kamino on a top-secret mission to gather information about the chips and Palpatine's involvement in the cloning process.

Still, it was tedious work, and her health was taking a beating. Her head swam and her eyes could hardly focus. After one has stayed awake for ten days, the world starts to look a bit grimmer.

So she blocked out the high-pitched sound Skywalker emitted as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his form stopped pulling against his restraints.

It was entirely her fault.

But she had work to do.

* * *

Ahsoka was biting her nails again.

She wasn't allowed to see her Master, and had to practically beg on her knees to see Rex. She didn't understand why she was being held at arm's length. Master Che gave her a cold glare, sipping caf like it was keeping her alive. Maybe it was.

"Your Master is not permitted guests at this time, and Rex is sleeping off the sedative administered for the surgery. I haven't time for your babbling nonsense, Padawan Tano. My patience need rest, not company."

"My _friends_ need company, not rest. I've only got a little while before—"

"Then by all means, go and sit at the Captain's bedside. Just don't get in my way. Room three."

Ahsoka jumped to her feet and ran to his room through the Halls, glancing into the patient rooms as she went. Hundreds of clones on cots sitting in locked rooms everywhere she looked, all of their weapons confiscated and locked away as well. She had never seen so many clones in the Halls before.

Ahsoka shook head in wonder, pressing the keypad a few times to allow her entrance into Rex's room. She held her breath as the door slid open.

There was Captain Rex, lying on a white cot with white sheets. Even his usually tan skin looked pale white. Alongside of him were four other clones, each with bandages wrapped around their heads. All but one was shaved completely bald, making it nearly impossible to assign other names.

"Captain Rex?" Ahsoka asked hesitantly. "Rex? Are you awake?"

She got no response.

So Ahsoka simply sat down next to her friend's bed and waited.

"Are you Commander Tano?" a voice asked. Ahsoka picked her head up, searching for the person the voice belonged to. Only one clone met her eyes. He was bald, but had managed to save some hair on his chin. Ahsoka wouldn't quite call it a beard…more like a goatee that grew over onto his chin. He was on the farthest side of the room on a thin cot close to the ground. It looks like even the Halls were short on space.

"I am," Ahsoka responded hesitantly. "Why do you ask?"

The clone rubbed his baldhead. "Word gets around fast, Commander. We've all heard what you did—how you fought. You're a hero."

Ahsoka shook her head, not sure what to do with his praise. "I'm not as great as stories make me sound. I was…I was too late to save my Master. Twice, now."

The clone shifted in his bed so that he was sitting up. "Commander Tano, I've been on the front for a lotta battles now, and I have seen a lotta my brothers go down before my own eyes. If you let the grief that you coulda saved them weigh you down, you'll be the next one with a bullet wound through your chest."

"What's your name, trooper?" Ahsoka asked.

"CT-27-5555, Commander. Better known as Fives, Commander," the clone—Fives—answered. He just about saluted before realizing the IV in his arm prevented him to do so. Ahsoka offered him a quick smile, but underneath it her stomach was churning. She started to bite her nails, frowning as she realized she had picked them to the quick. Again.

"Nasty habit you've got there, Commander."

Ahsoka looked up again, expecting it to be Fives. Instead, it was the sole clone with hair. While the man wore it like an accomplishment, Ahsoka couldn't help but think the small strip of hair salvaged made him look lopsided. The clone had turned to face toward Ahsoka, but seemed to lack the strength to get up like Fives had.

"I'm sorry?"

The clone waved his hand, as if he was erasing what he said. "Never mind me, Commander. We've all got habits. I can't be one to talk." Fives let out a short laugh.

"It's true. The guy repeats every command he's ever given."

"I can't help it! When I repeat it, it helps me remember. And _someone_ has to remember orders, since you never listen!"

" _You_ never listen!"

Ahsoka held back a giggle. They really _did_ sound like brothers.

"The name's Echo, Commander," the clone finally said.

"Echo and Fives. Now why do those names sound so familiar?" Ahsoka asked. Fives shrugged. Echo itched at his lonely patch of hair.

"We're part of the 501st. You've probably fought right along side of us during some of your missions," Echo offered. Ahsoka thought back to when she was last on the battlefield. That was almost six weeks ago, when her Master was still…

"We've been under General Skywalker's command for the last couple months. When the 501st got the news of the General's injury…" Fives' voice cracked.

"It was probably the hardest briefings we've ever had to sit through. It's bad enough when one of our brothers fall, but _our General_? Now that'll dampen the spirits of even the most optimistic soldier," Echo finished.

"It must be hard for you, Commander," Fives said, his voice barely audible. Ahsoka stared at the ground, trying hard to not damage her fingers any further.

"My Master has a really," Ahsoka faltered. "Really big presence. And seeing him confined to this-this _prison_ of a chair he sits in… it's even worse than thinking about what might happen to me if Master Che can't fix him. He thinks that if he just keeps the pain to himself, that everything will go back to normal. He keeps our training bond shut tight as if I won't realize he's hurting. That we'll all just dance around him like nothing is wrong. He thinks that he's _burdening_ me if he talks about his thoughts, or the pain he's in, or the disability he has. _He's not burdening me!_ I need to _understand_ him, and know what he's going through!"

Ahsoka didn't realize she was shouting.

The third clone blinked blearily. "What's going on?" he croaked. His arm was wrapped in a sling, and his bed hinted that he had been here before the chaos had broken out.

"It's alright, Leo. Just letting out some pent up energy. You know better than the rest of us how it feels to be holed up in a room for too long," Fives said to the clone—Leo—who shifted so that he wasn't looking at the ceiling.

"I'm about to go crazy just thinking about it. How many of us do you think made it through surgery? I wouldn't be able to bear it if my brothers were…were on the other side of my gun."

 _Other side of his gun?_

What was he talking about?

"Not sure. Master Che is working hard to make sure as many of us as possible are chip-free," Echo said, his voice dropping lower. "I've heard that this whole conspiracy links back to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine."

Ahsoka looked from clone to clone. "What? What links back to Palpatine?"

Fives shook his head solemnly. "Commander, there are some serious crimes going on underneath the surface of the Republic. A lotta clones have gone through a surgery to remove what we were told was a chip in our brain that programmed us to turn on our Generals if the Jedi ever went south. Captain Rex fought the Chancellor, got taken here to recover, and when Jedi Master Che did a scan on his brain to make sure the lightning didn't fry him, she saw something unusual. Tested Leo then, and saw it was in him too. Echo and I were here dropping off some of the Jedi when we were pulled into the Halls, then straight into surgery. We didn't know what hit us. That Master Che is down to business."

"Palpatine's betrayal to the Republic triggered a response in some of the clones, and Master Che has taken in the ones that the response seems strongest in and performed the surgery to get the chips out. I can't imagine what would happen if Master Che and the others can't get all of the chips... It would be a clone-against-clone war," Leo added, shuddering at the thought.

Ahsoka's eyes went wide.

 _A clone against clone war._

Echo held up a weary hand.

"I'm glad that you all are figuring out what's going on, but mind keeping it down? I've got a major headache, and could use a few more winks." Fives rolled his eyes, but slid back down under his sheet as well, closing his eyes.

"Commander, I just want to let you know that whatever happens, you've got our support. It's leaders like you that make me not lose hope," Fives said, growing drowsier by the second. Ahsoka blushed, but thanked the clones.

"And Commander?" Echo yawned. "S'okay to be scared."

Ahsoka let her smile fade as the last clone dropped off to sleep. It wasn't real anyway, and Jedi weren't supposed to be scared.

* * *

Obi-Wan watched Vokara closely as she downed another cup of caf. Her left eyelid twitched to a rhythm. Her right knee jiggled on the offbeat. Every two sips, she licked her lips in some sort of mock double-time. Even Obi-Wan felt on edge by her side.

Vokara Che needed sleep. Badly.

Obi-Wan didn't feel as though it was his place to tell her what to do; but on the other hand, if he didn't who would? She wasn't the only one pulling late nights for the sick or needy. Obi-Wan hadn't slept well in a week—maybe two—and while his caf consumption wasn't anywhere near her level, he almost had a matching twitch.

"Master Che, I don't mean to sound rude—"

"Then don't say it, Kenobi. I am not interested in your advice. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go check on Skywalker before I go back to overseeing chip removals," Vokara snapped. Obi-Wan held up his hands in surrender.

"At least let me accompany you. It would do me some good to see Anakin again."

"Do not make me send you back to the corridor, Kenobi."

"I assure you, there is no need."

Vokara gave him one last suspicious glance before complying.

"Fine," she huffed, gathering her medical supplies in her arms. "But know that I do not tolerate any sort of interference with my work. I am on a tight schedule."

"One that obviously doesn't include sleep," Obi-Wan mused. Vokara glared.

"You overstep your boundaries, Kenobi. Are you a Healer?"

"No, but I—"

"Then don't pretend you know what _I_ am supposed to do."

They walked the rest of the way to Anakin's room in silence.

* * *

Anakin sensed his Master coming, their bond able to penetrate the bacta's blue cocoon. The world was blurred and confusing, and he watched it through heavily lidded eyes. Dancing in and out of consciousness, he saw only glimpses of his surroundings. One thing was clear: he was alone.

Loneliness clouded his thoughts and his judgment. He sunk deeper and deeper into hopelessness.

 _No one cared about him._

 _He was worthless._

 _He was broken beyond repair._

The door to his room slid open, revealing Obi-Wan and his bright Force signature _._ At his side walked Master Che. Through the liquid he couldn't make out facial features, let alone emotions. Sloppily, he reached out through his bond with Obi-Wan to check his thoughts.

 _Good to see you up,_ Obi-Wan buzzed with encouragement, though his mental shields were shut tight. _How do you feel?_

Anakin could feel his eyes on him, though that seemed to be the extent of his wellbeing research. Obi-Wan rarely prodded his mind without permission. They trusted each other to keep it that way. Just in case, Anakin swallowed up his pain and brokenness with some difficulty and stored it away farther than even he could reach, forcing the lock on the dark mechanism tightly closed. _Obi-Wan was here now, so it would get better._

He had to believe that.

 _I can't see you well,_ was all Anakin responded with. Bland, but truthful.

He braced himself as Master Che came up to the panel and started pressing buttons. Anakin had tried to memorize the pattern she would plug in: which ones were for oxygen levels and which were for draining and filling. While the whole keypad looked the same through the glass Anakin still found himself wracking his brain for the pattern. He would not get his hopes up of being released from this Force-forsaken bacta tank just to be drugged again.

Then, thank the Force, the bacta liquid started to drain.

* * *

Vokara tapped her foot impatiently as Skywalker was dried off and scanned by the medical droid. She had a strict schedule she needed to keep, and she definitely didn't have time to wait and make sure that Skywalker was comfortable.

"If you are quite finished now," she urged the droid. It complied, stepping aside a shivering Skywalker. The usually snarky young man kept his head down and eyes averted. His chest bare and covered in goose bumps heaved with effort just to stay sitting upright. He didn't say a word.

"I do not have time to tolerate your moodiness, Skywalker. You will cooperate, or you will be forced into cooperation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master." It was a weak, hoarse response.

"I am not to be blamed for your discomfort."

"Yes, Master."

"And I will certainly not be blamed for your inability to use your beloved steel wheelchair. You _will_ use a hoverchair."

"Yes, Master."

"Are you going to argue with me at all, Skywalker?" Vokara asked, surprised at his willingness. Skywalker licked his lips.

"No, Master."

Vokara was impressed. Obi-Wan looked worried.

Vokara went on without another word, stripping the young man of his bacta briefs and into a clean tunic and pants. Anakin flinched, but did not speak.

She then went through and checked his pulse, reassembled the catheter and bag around his thigh, listened to his ratchet heart. She pressed a thermometer underneath his tongue, and while he winced he did not try and mouth his usual complaints around device. By the end, Skywalker didn't know what had hit him when she snapped a sling around his arm and neck. When he realized the contraption, he looked up at Vokara.

 _"Wha?"_ he squeaked. Vokara rolled her eyes.

"It's a sling, Skywalker. I've put you in one plenty of times before. It's to make sure that your shoulder isn't used too much before it is ready. Do not take it off unless you are instructed to by the medcorp."

"Yes, Master," Skywalker said dutifully.

Yet for some reason, Vokara didn't like this new obedient young man.

She decided that she didn't have any more space in her brain to worry about it, so she let it go. She'd let Kenobi over-analyze the boy like he always did. That wasn't her job, and Force knows she did not need any more responsibility.

All she was required to do was to make sure Skywalker was alive and conscious until this war was over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Obi-Wan was just thankful that Anakin was conscious.

It had been so long since he had seen him awake that it made his heart physically hurt to see him. Anakin had a start of a beard; whiskers, barely, but it looked strange on his face either way. His hair was wet, and it was slowly soaking his clothes drip by drip. Obi-Wan tried not to notice his sunken eyes, his shell-like emotions. He tried not to feel offended at Anakin's locked emotions or the way he sat facing away from him and Vokara.

"How was your time in the tank?" Obi-Wan said good-naturedly. He already knew they shared a common hatred of bacta tanks—it was a constant source of humor between Master and Padawan, even up until Anakin's knighthood and beyond. Now, Anakin's lips only twitched.

"Obi."

Though he could have said "lonely."

Obi-Wan decided he did not entirely hear Anakin's quiet response. Instead of asking for clarification he averted his eyes, content to watch the water droplets instead of meeting Anakin's hollow glare.

The 2-1B droid guided Anakin into a forward lean, checking his spine with slow, methodical prods and scans. He felt weak—even sitting still, his hands trembled and his head swam. The familiar sore, pink feeling after a dip hugged his body, especially around his collarbone. He was torn between ignoring the scar he was sure to have and peeking down his collar to see it in full glory.

There was no information he could hide to make himself look healthy in front of Obi-Wan and Master Che. If anyone could see through a façade of his, it would be them. No need for fake strength or bravery. He needed to see the permanent mark Palpatine made on his flesh.

Anakin lifted the corner of his tunic, ignoring the moisture gathering in his eyes as he saw the large, tender, bacta-healed wound. The raised skin would be covered with a light bandage soon to encourage his body to heal on its own. _The sooner the better,_ Anakin thought as he wiped at his cheeks with the back of his flesh hand. _I don't want to see it ever again._

2-1B took Anakin's chin in his claw-like hands, pulling his gaze away from his scar. A white light blinded him, and he shook his head, blinking away the medical droids persistent ophthalmoscope attacks.

"It is wise to remain still as I finish updating your vital files," the droid scolded, still holding his chin in a death grip. Anakin grimaced.

He was _fine._

He had just spent _nine days_ in a bacta tank. He might be shaky and weak, his eyes not yet adjusted to the bluish light around him, but he was on the mend. Getting better. Obi-Wan was there now.

The hole in his stomach should have dissolved by now.

And Anakin could handle scars.

He wasn't just trying to convince himself either—he had plenty of scars from battles, accidents, and his years in training. Some were more noticeable than others, like the scar that split his eyebrow in two uneven. The lightsaber wound would just be another past conundrum he survived the wiser.

The bacta pink would go away, he knew from experience, and the new pale skin would immerge. He would bare it to the 501st someday and retell the story fit with a moral and an inspiring ending. In the end, he would wake up and he wouldn't feel sore, just sleepy and hungry and ready for morning to come. Scars don't change what's inside you, the midichlorian count or…or anything truly important.

No, in the end Palpatine knew power. And he knew that Anakin's power was useless now. The Jedi might as well kick him out now and save him the agony.

The droid poked a needle through his left shoulder.

"Hey!" Anakin yelped. The droid met his glare with its bright eyes. Anakin had to squint to keep his eyes from tearing up.

"I am following direct orders from Healer Che. If you would like me to contact her, I am more than capable of doing so," 2-1B droned. Anakin shook his head. He hated when he had drugs in his system—it made him feel out of control—but he had seen Master Che.

Something was terribly wrong.

* * *

Padmé stepped out of yet another interrogation meeting and took a shaky breath. It was her fifth one now, and she wasn't sure how many more she could take. The entire Senate was under question, but because of her past connections to the Chancellor, her allegiance was in question.

Never, _never_ would she betray the Republic she helped protect.

It made her sick to think that people would doubt her loyalty, but it made her even sicker was that she sent Anakin away without so much as a goodbye.

He could have been _killed_ and she wouldn't have said to him that she loved him. It ate at her conscience endlessly. He faced one of his most trusted advisors alone, and he would have died alone if it wasn't for Ahsoka and Captain Rex. She wanted to thank them, wanted to hug them both and kiss them and tell them how important it was to her that Anakin was still alive. But she couldn't.

And she never would be able to.

So she picked up her skirt and walked briskly out of the Senate's long hallway and into the fresh air. Her ship was waiting for her, as was her Captain.

"Captain Typho, it is good to see you again, " Padmé called to her Captain. He smiled.

"Another miserable day, Senator?" Typho asked, his voice hinting an attempt at humor. She nodded, letting her Captain take her arm and escort her to her ship.

"I promised that I would visit the Jedi Knight almost two weeks ago," Padmé told Typho. "And I still haven't returned. He must think that I no longer care."

"He will understand due to the circumstances. No one can keep a schedule in a time like this."

 _His wife should be able to,_ Padmé thought guiltily.

When they boarded the ship, Padmé tried to contact Obi-Wan Kenobi to see how Anakin was doing. She had been unsuccessful all week long, and was desperate for news. Still, Obi-Wan remained unreachable.

Padmé threw down her transmitter.

She hated not knowing if Anakin was all right.

* * *

Vokara Che sat in her study, cursing herself.

 _It was all her fault._

She failed.

She had done so many surgeries without complication. Over one thousand, she believed. Yes, over one thousand clone surgeries without any complications. Her patients were recovering well, and some had even been cleared to leave the Halls.

She wiped at her eyes, thanking the Force she was alone. Vokara Che did not cry. She did not cry unless she killed a patient. _It was all her fault._

The clone trooper had smiled at her and told her that he admired her. Did he admire her still, now that she had taken his life with her own two hands? One slip up, and she had killed him. One wrong action, a lifetime of regret.

On the battlefield, you have a purpose to kill. In assassin work, you have an incentive to kill. In the medical realm, you are bound by code to protect and _save_ lives, not take them.

Vokara allowed herself another moment of anguish before settling herself into a meditative pose.

She would let the Force take it away.

Then, she would write the name _Ott_ on the wall over her study.

There are only three names on the wall.

They are all her fault.

* * *

"I'm gonna be sick," Anakin barked as he dry heaved into a basin for what felt like the hundredth time, even after when he was sure the worst was over. Obi-Wan, despite his intense dislike of puke and Anakin's inability to keep his shields up, stayed by Anakin's bedside.

"Let me take some of the weight," Obi-Wan pleaded, not for the first time either. The bent position Anakin had been stuck in for the better half of an hour had his back screaming and his abdomen twitching with pain. Anakin tried to get a look at his former Master's sure-to-be green complexion. "Just _relax,_ Anakin." Anakin tried to follow his advice, but his stomach refused to stop rebelling.

The medical droid helpfully pointed out that he was having a negative reaction to the medication that was injected. _Tell me something I don't know,_ Anakin thought. He coughed, the stomach acid tickling his throat, then dry heaved some more. There was no food left to throw up.

"Master, _make it stop,"_ Anakin groaned. Obi-Wan pulled Anakin's hair out of his face gently, brushing the back of his hand along Anakin's forehead in the process.

"I'm sorry, young one," Obi-wan said softly. Anakin barely noticed him slipping and using the name he called Anakin so often when Anakin was a child. "Master Che will come back and check on you soon and it will all be over."

" _It hurts_ ," Anakin complained. It was something he rarely voiced unless instructed to. Obi-Wan rubbed his shoulder.

"It will all be over soon, Anakin. Stay strong."

The 2-1B spoke again. "If my assistance is not required at this moment, I can read through the patients data files and check if an anti-nausea medication would be of use."

"It would, yes," Obi-Wan answered quickly. "I know Anakin's data file." The _by heart_ was not voiced. "Use the anti-nausea."

The droid went to prep the medication.

Anakin kept heaving; he could almost hear his own spine grinding together.

" _Masterr._ " Anakin was getting tired. So…tired…

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin expectantly.

"It looks as though the original medication is finally taking," 2-1B said. "Nevertheless, I will still apply the anti-nausea for the patient's comfort, as well as the common peace of mind."

"How very thoughtful of you," Obi-Wan said sarcastically. The droid braced Anakin's back before slowly lowering him onto the bed. Mechanically, 2-1B twisted his arm to produce a syringe. With applaudable precision, it pressed the needle into Anakin's flesh arm.

Obi-Wan pulled a chair closer to Anakin's bed, reveling in its lack of comfortableness. It wasn't made for guests. Anakin had been instructed to stay in one of the many bacta tank rooms, since his other room was being used to house recovering clones. Obi-Wan didn't mind the room, though it was smaller than the last. The glowing bacta tank tinted the room a blue color; the overhead lights had been dimmed for Anakin's sake, his eyes not used to the brightness. It was the perfect atmosphere for a recovering Jedi Knight and a sleepless Master Kenobi. Still, Obi-Wan refused to take the bait.

He stroked his beard, all his senses focused on Anakin and not the basin full of bile. He concentrated on Anakin's eyelids, which fluttered up and down. The young man looked like he was fighting to stay awake.

"Don't fight the darkness. Let it come to you. You need _sleep_ , young one." Anakin shook his head wearily.

"Lass' time you tol' me that I woke up and couldn' walk," Anakin whispered. His mouth was drawn into a tight frown. Obi-Wan dragged his fingers through his beard harder.

"I will stay right here," because how could be make promises all the time with no backbone to them? "You just need sleep. It would be wise of me to take a nap as well."

His hologram projector bleeped at him, signaling an incoming transmission. Obi-Wan ignored it.

"Yeah, bu' nobody drugs you 'o make you sleep," Anakin whined. Obi-Wan took Anakin's flesh hand in his own and squeezed lightly—a signal of passing strength.

"It's for your own good, Anakin. Please tell me you know I would never let anything happen to you that wasn't for your own wellbeing."

Anakin twisted on his bed.

He could feel the drugs taking affect, and his tongue started to get looser. He hated it when it happened, when he couldn't control himself.

The drugs started talking for him.

"No one was there," Anakin whimpered, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Obi-Wan's grip. "You weren't there when I woke up. I was 'wake for days and Master Che drugged me an' I couldn't feel the straps _at all."_ He was rambling, but his head wasn't much clearer than the nonsense he spewed. Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again, dipping his head low.

"I came as soon as I could, young one. You were never far from my thoughts and…and I ask for your forgiveness, for my absence. As your former Master I should have sensed your distress…as your friend, I should have been at your side."

"Padmé never came either," Anakin mumbled.

" _Senator Amidala_ , to you, and she is a very busy young woman. Especially now, with Chancellor…" Obi-Wan's correction wavered as he realized his mistake.

 _"Master,_ " Anakin said quietly, his shaky hand drifted to the lumpy scar on his collarbone. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"You don't have to," Obi-Wan answered quickly, finding himself uselessly watching his friend fight sleep. "You should rest. I'll be right here when you wake."

"You should go home. You're dead'n your feet."

"I'll make sure to borrow some of Master Che's caf."

"She'd kill you."

Obi-Wan smiled as Anakin's eyes slid closed. When he was younger, he would ask Anakin to name planets until the sedative or another assortment of drugs kicked in. Sometimes they would cover the whole Outer Rim. Other times, they wouldn't get past Jakku.

"Should I start?" Obi-Wan asked the familiar question, referring to their ritual hospital game. Anakin shook his head wearily.

"Naboo," he whispered, chest already rising and falling in a steady, relaxed rhythm. The dry heaving had ended for good, thank the Force.

"Coruscant."

"Tatooine."

"Endor."

"Ryloth…"

And Anakin fell asleep, hand still guarding his scarred chest, leaving Obi-Wan alone with their unfinished galaxy.

* * *

"This piece of junk you gave me doesn't even fit through the 'fresher door!" Anakin complained as he whirled around in the state-of-the-art hoverchair, slamming on the first buttons he saw. The chair fought back valiantly, tipping this way and that to try and buck off its new owner. If it wasn't for the seat buckle around Anakin's waist, he would have been thrown half way across the Halls.

Master Che threw up her hands in disgust. "What ever happened to _'Yes, Master?!'_ " she shouted back.

"It disappeared the moment that I needed to get through the 'fresher door!"

"Skywalker, _sit down!"_

"I _AM_ sitting!"

Obi-Wan watched the shouting match with an eyebrow raised. Seeing the two of them back to arguing was a good sign—it meant that Vokara had finally accepted his pleas to get some sleep, and Anakin had gained back a decent amount of energy. Obi-Wan himself had time to catch a few winks in between talking to Ahsoka and quelling Senator Amidala's anger.

 _No, he didn't return her calls. Yes, he should have. But he was busy!_

He felt as though he wasn't given enough credit when it came to his nickname, the Negotiator. His life revolved around breaking up arguments.

"Why don't you two both settle down to a cup of tea, and then we'll re-discuss the matter?" Obi-Wan suggested. Vokara harrumphed. Anakin slapped a hand over his face.

"I just want to crap in peace," Anakin groaned. "Is that too much to ask?"

"For now, Skywalker, it _is_ too much to ask. You want your freedom back? Attend my therapy sessions and listen to my advice. If you'll have success at all, it will be through _my way."_

"Or I could just fix up my wheelchair and scrap the hoverchair, therapy, and all this _kriffing_ busywork! Problem solved!" Anakin argued. Master Che took a deep breath, blue nostrils flaring angrily.

"Skywalker. Listen. To. Me. I have had a _very_ rough week, and although you self-centeredly think that you've had the worst week ever _, you haven't_. I have more clones to operate on than I have beds, and I am sitting here by your bedside, arguing with a teenager about whether or not he should use a certain chair and listen to his healer's orders. Does this sound trivial to you yet? _Hundreds_ of clones are in danger of being turned to the Dark Side to do the Chancellor's biding, and we sit here idle!"

Anakin blinked.

"I'll… lay down," Anakin said as he hovered over to his bed and lifted himself from the sitting position and onto his side. Master Che brushed off her dress as if she was reestablishing dignity and calm with a swipe.

"Thank you. Now, I leave Kenobi in charge. I'll be back in four hours to check on you, Skywalker. And…perhaps I'll send a trainee to the garbage chute," Vokara said as she turned to walk out the door. Anakin smirked.

"Jedi are so quick to dump scrap metal. Don't you think it'd be better for the planets if we started to reuse our rubbish?" the cheeky young man called after his Master Healer. Obi-Wan covered his amused grin with a palm.

"Skywalker, not another word until I'm out of earshot."

"Goodbye Master Che!"

"Good riddance, Anakin Skywalker! Do your exercises.

When there was no response, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan with a pleading look. "Don't make me, Master, please."

Obi-Wan hastily put on a pair of gloves. "I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice, my very young apprentice." He reached out with the Force to help Anakin lie down in the correct position, facing away from him with his legs just so.

"I'm afraid I hate everything about this, my very old master."

* * *

Ahsoka spotted Master Che walking into one of the rooms.

"Master Che!" she yelled, running after her. "Master Che, wait!"

Ahsoka hadn't been allowed to see her Master since their battle against Chancellor Palpatine. Every now and then, she felt his shields weaken and a burst of pain and sadness would flood her heart. She was restless, unable to think or meditate. If she could just see her Master, then everything would straighten out again. She would stop having the horrible nightmares about her Master being stabbed over, and over, and over again, every time Ahsoka being a little too late to save him.

"What is it, Padawan Tano?" Master Che snapped. "I just shook your Master off of my tail." Ahsoka let out a nervous giggle.

"Actually, I was hoping that my Master was well enough that I could—"

"No."

 _"What?"_

Ahsoka thought for sure that this time it would be different.

"I said no. I am done arguing with everyone Skywalker comes into contact with. No is my final answer. Your Master is in no shape to have visitors." Master Che started walking away. Ahsoka stomped her foot.

"But I'm his _Padawan!_ If I can't visit him when he's struggling, how am I going to learn how to managed when I'm struggling?"

Master Che stopped her stride.

"Your master is very strong," Master Che said. Ahsoka could barely hear her voice. "But even _he_ cannot muscle his way through this problem. There is nothing to learn. Goodbye, Padawan Tano."

Ahsoka couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that she was being told to go away _again_. She had defended her Master with her life! She had fought Chancellor Palpatine—who Master Yoda said was the most powerful Sith lord in the galaxy—for him! And now she was being pushed away, just like some ordinary visitor, some lowlife friend.

Ahsoka walked aimlessly around the Halls, seething with anger. She knew that it wasn't right, but her heart had lost connection to her head. She needed to see her Master. Now. The details did not matter any longer.

She fisted her hands and walked fast toward the room she sensed her Master was staying in. Ahsoka hit the entrance button hard. _She couldn't be told when she could or couldn't see her Master. She would decide that for herself._

She walked through the door boldly.

"Master, I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, but—"

"Ahsoka?"

"Ahsoka Tano, _get out of this room!"_

Her eyes widened, then she ran out of the room.

 _Oh, she was so foolish._

Her Master was laying on his side, one leg straight, the other bent at an angle. Master Kenobi was busy behind him, hands gloved and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Master Skywalker was naked except for the thin tunic he wore.

Ahsoka's eyes burned with shame.

She should have listened to Master Che. Now she had embarrassed herself and her Master. _She was such a youngling!_ She wiped at her eyes, fighting away the tears she thought were foolish. She needed to get out, go away, like Master Obi-Wan shouted. Making up her mind, Ahsoka took off running through the Halls.

Ahsoka turned the corner mindlessly to see a familiar semi-circle of chairs. She blinked. She had ended up in the corridor where Master Kenobi had sat with her to wait for her Master's recovery. It seemed so long ago.

Without realizing what she was doing, Ahsoka sat down in the chair Master Obi-Wan sat in. She folded her legs, finding the chair was the perfect size to do so, and closed her eyes. She already knew meditation would not come.

All she could do was wait and hope her Master would forgive her.

* * *

Padmé found herself in the company of Anakin's young Padawan two hours later. In true Senate style, she had stormed the Halls, pushing past various medcorp members, trying to find Anakin.

She found the next best person.

"Ahsoka! I'm so glad to see you!" Padmé and the younger girl embraced warmly. "I need to find your Master. Do you know which room he is staying in?"

Ahsoka squirmed. "Er, yes, but I don't think it's a good idea to go in."

"Why not? Is something wrong?"

"Yes…no? Not exactly. I…may have disobeyed some strict orders not to go in earlier, and I realize now how stupid it was for me to do so. I let my emotions cloud my judgment."

Padmé smiled at Ahsoka, holding onto her shoulders. "Ahsoka, I know that you and your Master are very close. Did he feel angry?"

"No," Ahsoka answered firmly. "Master Obi-Wan was, but not Master Skywalker."

"Good. Then we're going to go disobey the strict orders again."

And with that, Padmé grabbed Ahsoka's gloved hand and pulled her through the Halls in the exact opposite way Anakin's room was.

* * *

Captain Rex woke up to an awful headache.

Rubbing his head to try and find where the discomfort was coming from, he surveyed the room. ARC trooper Fives and Echo both sat on their cots on the opposite wall, while clone trooper Leo stood beside him.

"Morning, Captain," the trooper said. Rex blinked crabbily at the bright lights that surrounded him before responding.

"What morning is it, trooper?" Rex asked. Leo turned to the other two clones in the room, who both shrugged.

"Dunno, Captain. We've been trapped in here for as long as you have," Echo responded. On top of his head was the fuzzy beginnings of hair. The bandages that Rex had on his own head were missing from Echo's. The other two clones still were wrapped up in medical tape and gauze. Rex felt like he was behind, but he didn't know why.

"When did you boys get into surgery?" Rex questioned, struggling to pull himself upright. The bed underneath him creaked in protest.

"A little while after you, sir," Fives replied. He picked up his Captain's marred helmet and carried it over to him. "Sorry, Captain. I was looking at it."

"What's so interesting about my helmet? It's made from the same mold as yours," Rex said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Echo flinched.

"It's just got so many marks. Can't help but wonder where they all came from, you know?" Echo said. Rex weighed his helmet in his hands, resisting the urge to turn and count the marks himself.

"There not stories I'm proud to tell, boys."

"Oh, come on. You're being modest," Leo said. Rex looked him in the eye.

"Each mark on this helmet is a failure. A man down, a battle lost, a General…" Rex couldn't finish. He looked down at his trusty piece of armor, resting his forehead on the twisted melted side. "I failed to protect my General twice. And I'll never forgive myself."

The room was silent as their Captain drowned in his own guilt. Echo took a step forward. Then another.

"Captain, we all mess up sometimes—"

"You didn't see General Skywalker go down when he was hit by the Separatist tank! You didn't see the look on his face when he realized the Chancellor had betrayed him! You didn't see that-that _Sith's_ blade stab him dangerously close to his heart! You don't know what it feels like to serve a man who has lost _everything_ that means something to him protect you over and over again and _you_ not be able to have his back _when he needs you most!"_

It was as if Rex had fired a stun bolt at them. His brothers didn't move, talk, or breathe.

Pure silence.

Rex hated it.

"I'm sorry, men, I-I just have a lot on my chest," Rex apologized. Fives shook himself out of his daze.

"Captain, that was very brave of you," Fives said, crossing the room to put a hand on his Captain's shoulder. Rex had to look away.

"Praise won't make me forget anything," he muttered.

 _Remember your failures,_ his helmet seemed to say. Rex started to count the scratches and dents, stopping at the burn mark once again.

"Then how can we help?" Leo asked. His hand was found over the mark, shielding it from Rex's view. Rex's reaction was somewhere between annoyance and relief.

Echo snorted. "Please, Leo. You're no shrink. You can't help."

Rex thought. "Actually, I think you boys could."

* * *

Padmé and Ahsoka finally reached Anakin's room after more than their fair share of wrong turns and mix-ups. Padmé had very unceremoniously thrown off her high-heeled shoes and tossed them into the nearest waste bin. Ahsoka's eyes got wide.

"Padmé!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

Padmé brushed her hands on the front of her dress. "I can't run around the Halls in those shoes. We'll be able to find Anakin's room _much_ faster now." Padmé picked up her skirt and smiled.

Ahsoka couldn't believe that the woman in front of her was once a queen.

Padmé turned and started sprinting, slipping now and then on the polished floors of the Halls. Ahsoka giggled behind her hand at the sight. The Senator's meticulous bun was falling apart as fast as she was running. Her once crisp dress was now wrinkled and her shoes were…well, long gone.

Ahsoka shouted _"Wait!"_ once before running gleefully after.

Padmé turned the corner sharply, laughing as her long hair whipped around her shoulders. Ahsoka was right by her side, padawan beads flying.

She hadn't realized how much she missed freedom until recently, when it was so close to her grasp and yet so far away.

"Master, _please_ , I can get my own pants on."

Padmé recognized the voice like it was her own.

"Well, don't expect me to take your sling off for you to do it. How do you plan on getting your pants on one handed?"

This was the room.

Padmé skidded to a halt before the room numbered 21. Ahsoka stopped as well.

"This is it! This is the room!" Ahsoka whispered. Padmé rested a hand on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Anakin will forgive you, Obi-Wan will forgive you. Master Che will never need to know. Okay?" Ahsoka nodded. "Alright. Now, I say we earned being able to visit our favorite Jedi Knight, don't you?"

Padmé knocked on the door.

"Master Kenobi? Master Skywalker? Can we come in?"

Ahsoka could hear swearing in the background. Her Master, she could only guess.

Padmé held back a giggle. "He is such a kid."

Ahsoka had too much on her mind to find it as amusing as the Senator did.

 _"Blast, Obi-Wan! Help me with these stupid pants!"_

 _"If you would have let me help you earlier, we wouldn't be in this situation!"_

A minute passed and more swearing and arguing ensued.

Then the door buzzed open.

"I apologize for the wait, but we were having some…difficulties," Obi-Wan explained. His face was flushed a deep pink color. Padmé threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. "M-My lady?" Obi-Wan stuttered, confused and embarrassed at the affection.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you, Obi-Wan. I have had such a trying week," Padmé explained. Obi-Wan awkwardly patted her back.

"I can tell by your newest hair style," he said.

Padmé set Obi-Wan free from her embrace before walking the rest of the way through the entrance and into the main room. Anakin sat in bed, propped up by an armload of pillows. His arm was tied up in a cream sling, and over his legs laid a thin blanket of the same color. He was thin, pale, and all angles in the faint blue light of the bacta tank. But, despite everything she had been told, his eyes were bright.

He was conscious.

And it was the most beautiful thing Padmé had ever seen.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Anakin blinked hard, doubting his consciousness.

Padmé stood in front of him, hair thrown about her shoulders, dress askew, smile as big as a moon. Padmé was a Senator—first a _queen_. She didn't have messy hair and clothes. It must all be a dream. A wonderful, happy dream. Something Anakin didn't have the luxury of.

"Anakin Skywalker," Padmé greeted delicately. "It is so good to see you looking well."

Anakin raised an eyebrow. " _Well,_ Senator? I believe I look more like a rancor caught hold of me. Obi-Wan would agree, I'm sure."

Obi-Wan fingered his beard indecisively.

Anakin sighed, sinking into his mountain of hospital pillows. _Obi-Wan_ got the hug from Padmé and _he_ still had to keep up this _kriffing_ charade that they played. He plucked at his sheets moodily _. The word of the year is unfair,_ Anakin thought.

Then a pair of slender arms wrapped around his middle, and Anakin looked up into his wife's eyes and all thoughts disappeared from his mind but _"I love her."_

The hug didn't last long enough for what Anakin's heart ached for.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it here sooner. I hate it when others break their promises, and I know you must think poorly of me."

"The promise wasn't broken, Senator Amidala. It was only delayed," Anakin said politely. He knew that her life must be even busier now without the Chancellor holding the chaos at bay.

 _The Chancellor._

Just thinking his name brought Anakin back into a foul mood.

Ahsoka watched as Anakin accepted Padmé's embrace. She couldn't help but wonder how Padmé was so good with people. She knew exactly what to do and when to do it. Ahsoka was just as graceful as a Hutt when it came to people skills.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan started, clearing his throat to regain the party's attention. "Now that our dear Senator is here, I think that it might be time for me to report back to the Council. The progress you've made over the last day is worth the long—"

"Boring—"

"— _important_ meeting. I won't be long," Obi-Wan said, turning to leave. "And don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!"

Anakin rubbed his face tiredly, already waving his goodbye. "Master, I couldn't possibly dream of doing anything stupid without you by my side."

Obi-Wan chuckled, but there was a sort of sadness behind it all. "I won't be gone long."

"You-you said that," Anakin said. Obi-Wan blinked before making an awkward, quick exit out the door, calling goodbye over his shoulder.

Ahsoka felt even more nervous after Master Obi-Wan left.

A few silent minutes passed before there was a knock at the door. A loud clanging noise followed.

Her Master craned his neck to try and see what the noise was, but from his position on the bed, he didn't have a good view. Ahsoka hesitated, but her curiosity got the better of her. She crept toward the door, one hand on her lightsaber just in case.

When Ahsoka opened the door, what she found was a large pile of what looked like scrap metal.

"It's scrap metal," she said, confused. Padmé appeared in the doorway along side of her.

"It's not scrap metal, it's Anakin's wheelchair!" Padmé identified. Ahsoka and Padmé both picked up the broken pieces of chair and hauled them into the room. Her Master's eye lit up with happiness.

"My wheelchair!" he shouted gleefully. "No way, I thought that they'd never find it! Bring it over here!"

"It's in no shape to be ridden in, my Jedi friend," Padmé said, looking from Master Skywalker to the twisted metal she held in her arms. "Maybe I should tell maintenance to take it out to the garbage chute?"

Anakin sat up straighter in his bed. "No! No, I can fix it! I just need the right tools."

Padmé rolled her eyes. "I'm taking it to maintenance."

"Don't! I hate that hoverchair. I told you that I could fix anything back on Tatooine, didn't I? And you thought I was a hot-shot slave trying to woo a princess."

"Queen!" Padmé corrected. Anakin pressed on.

"But I'm still that boy on Tatooine—like you said, like you saw me as. I can _still fix anything."_ He emphasized every word. "At least in the wheelchair I feel more…me."

"Fine," she promised. "If it makes you recover faster, then I'll let you have your pile of scraps." Anakin smiled.

"I'll recover _twice_ as fast if you borrow some tools for me."

"I'll go find tools for you, Master!" his Padawan chirped. _Ever eager to please,_ Anakin thought fondly.

"Good. Now, this mission will be tough. I'll be lookout here at post. Don't make eye contact with anyone. Keep a steady pace, and you'll make it to the maintenance closet five doors over to the left of my old room—room five. There's a steel box that's filled to the brim with tools. Take the whole box—yeah, I know we won't need all of them—and I've got my wheelchair back. Got it?" Anakin instructed. Ahsoka nodded, dashing out the door.

At last, Padmé and Anakin were alone.

Anakin patted the edge of his bed, and Padmé sat.

"I…I-I just _, I don't know what to say,_ " Anakin stuttered, blushing hard. Padmé wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"You don't have to talk," Padmé assured. Anakin nestled closer to her. The IV line in his arm prevented them from getting too close. "You look tired."

Anakin nodded.

"Do you feel all right?"

"I don't think I ever will," Anakin replied, matter-of-factly. "Not unless Master Che can figure out how to heal me."

Padmé's eyes went wide. "You mean she's still looking?"

Anakin slumped against Padmé's embrace. "I sure hope she is."

She rubbed soothing circles on his upper back to be sure that Anakin could feel it. Her hand brushed up against a thick bump.

Anakin yelped.

"I'm sorry!" Padmé apologized as soon as she hit it. There was only one thing the bump could be: the scar from Palpatine's lightsaber. She calculated Anakin's emotions carefully. He was still angry…and sad about the betrayal. He was hurt, but more than just past the physical pain. Palpatine had cut deeper than even Master Che could fix. "I'm sorry," Padmé said again, this time apologizing not for the mistake.

Anakin recovered slowly, clutching his sling-wrapped arm to his chest. "It's fine," he said slowly. "I'm fine."

"Obviously not," Padmé countered.

Anakin gave her a mock look of shock. "Is it that obvious?"

Padmé hugged him tighter. This is how it was meant to be. Her and him, him and her. Together. No distractions—

"She's coming!" Anakin warned suddenly. Padmé let Anakin out of their embrace and stood up from her sitting position. Anakin readjusted himself on the bed as if nothing happened. Moments later, Ahsoka came flying into the room a large grin plastered on her face.

"I got it, Master!" she said triumphantly.

"Nice job, Snips!"

"Bring it over here, Ahsoka."

Ahsoka hoisted the heavy metal box beside Anakin on the bed. Anakin flipped open the lid eagerly, like a child getting a present for the first time in a long while. Padmé then watched Anakin's features light up as he sorted through the borrowed tools, taking out the desired pieces and placing the rest back into the box.

"I can use my lightsaber for a welder…" Anakin started excitedly, then his tone changed. His form sagged against the pillows again.

"What's wrong, Master?" Ahsoka asked. Padmé flinched.

"Master Obi-Wan…hasn't given me my lightsaber back yet," Anakin answered, eyes squeezed shut in a mix of embarrassment and sadness. Padmé knew how it felt to not be trusted.

"You can use mine, Master! I don't mind," Ahsoka said innocently. The edges of Anakin's mouth twitched into a sad smile.

"Thanks Snips, I owe you one."

Ahsoka blushed, and shook her head. "If anyone owes anything, it's me."

Anakin looked confused, but didn't argue. Instead, he handed his Padawan a wrench and said: "Let's get to work."

Padmé kneeled on the ground and helped the two Jedi work out the metal puzzle pieces the wheelchair had become. Anakin used the Force when his explanations weren't enough, guiding the steel back into it's original place.

"I think that handle goes here."

"No, P-Senator. It's the _left_ handle."

"It is not! Look, the grip goes—"

"Ahsoka, convince her that it's the left handle!"

"I think that Padmé's right, Master. It fits better in the right hand than the left."

"I don't trust either of you. Give me that thing."

The arguing might have slowed down the progress, but the three didn't mind. It was time spent together, and Anakin's despair looked like it was slipping away with each piece of chair he welded or tweaked. Padmé wished that Obi-Wan was here, and glad that he was gone both at the same time. To see Anakin like this would lighten his heart, yet if he was here, she was certain that he wouldn't have allowed Anakin to sit on the floor.

"Easy, now, Anakin. We don't need anything else injured."

"I'll tell you if anything hurts, Master Healer Amidala. I know my own boundaries," Anakin said grumpily.

Truth be told, Anakin wasn't sure if lifting himself out of bed _was_ inside of his boundaries. His unused muscles shook with effort. He gritted his teeth as his legs freed themselves from the edge of the bed, and all weight was put on his arms. Ahsoka rushed to his side.

"Still want to do this, Master?"

"Shut it, Snips, and help me out."

Ahsoka channeled the Force, asking it to help Anakin to the ground. His IV line tugged, and he pulled it out with one stinging swoop.

"Anakin!" Padmé scolded. "Absolutely not! I will not hesitate to call Master Che back into this room and hook you back up."

"Padmé, I'm fine! _See?_ Look," Anakin protested, finally body connecting with ground. It was good to feel the ground again, and this time it being on purpose. The last time he was on the ground was… "I'm fine. It's all just precautionary crap. I can manage without half of the drugs they put me on."

It wasn't true, of course. Everything Master Che did was on purpose. Still, he needed Padmé off of his back. If he was going to fix his chair, then he would need one remaining limb working properly.

Ahsoka threw him her lightsaber.

At least _someone_ still trusted him.

He worked fast, afraid that at any moment Master Che or a member of the medcorp would stroll in and force him to return to that cursed bed. He couldn't handle sitting down any longer. He needed a change of scenery, and if the floor was the most change he got for now, then so be it.

It felt so good to be working in his element again.

The smell of hot metal along with the clanking sound of bolts and spare parts was a more effective medicine than what Anakin had been taking all week. His head cleared, and his hands worked out his problems through specific twists and welding. If only he could work on machines all of the time.

 _This_ was her Master she knew and loved.

He threw around commands easily, asking for certain tools and assistance. He worked with the skill that only the most passionate mechanics had. She watched in wonder as the chair that seemed to be only scrap metal a half an hour ago assembled before her very eyes.

Her Master kept huffing. She looked from him to Padmé, waiting for her to act. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

Padmé nodded in her direction.

"You obviously have something to say, so out with it already," said Master Skywalker. Padmé cleared her throat.

"It's no shame to have Ahsoka take over."

"I feel fine…it's this stupid hair that keeps getting in my way," Anakin said, huffing again to try and blow the strands of dark blond hair out of his eyes. Padmé shook her head fondly before stooping down to look him in the eye.

"All you have to say is 'Padmé, will you help me pull my hair out of my face?' and I will help you. Say it," Padmé coached. He rolled his eyes.

"I can handle it myself—"

"Say it."

"No, I'm serious, I'll just—"

"Say it!"

"Padmé will you help me pull my hair out of my face!" Anakin shouted, exasperated. Padmé raised an eyebrow. "Please," he added.

Ahsoka had never seen them act this way before.

"Of course I will! How brave of you to ask," Padmé gushed sarcastically. Out of her own hair she pulled a small band. Then, gathering the top half of Anakin's hair, she tied the band around, looping it once, twice, and then a third time to make sure it was secure. Anakin winced.

"Not so tight! Agh, it's pulling all my hair out," he complained.

"Which is what you were planning on doing anyway if I didn't step in," Padmé answered. Anakin tugged at the small nub of hair that Padmé had tied. Experimentally, he shook his head from side to side, a pleased grin appearing on his face when he found that no hair touched his forehead.

"What do you say?" Padmé prompted. Anakin reached a hand up to squeeze the Senator's.

"Thank you, Angel."

 _Angel?_ Since when were they close enough to have nicknames for each other?

* * *

Obi-Wan stood patiently in front of the Jedi Council. He didn't have time for small talk. He wanted to be back at Anakin's side, not here discussing whether or not to relocate some of the training facilities for the Younglings. He knew it was important, he just thought that there were more pressing matters. One of which being Anakin's dilemma with the Senate.

Just because the Chancellor turned out to be the most powerful Sith lord in the galaxy somehow didn't change the mind of the Senate that the advertisements involving Anakin's disability. Almost seventy percent of the Senate thought that the ads were just another piece to turning the tide of the war. Obi-Wan was here to convince the Council to step in. They couldn't just step aside and see one of their own get mocked in such a way. Yet here he was, two hours into the meeting and the subject still hadn't come up. He felt like his former Padawan: impatient and anxious.

"Restless, you are, Master Kenobi. Tell us, you must," Master Yoda said, always in tune to what his fellow Council members were feeling.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I would like to switch topics. Anakin isn't well, and I am afraid some Senate decisions are only going to make his condition worse," Obi-Wan said solemnly. Master Windu sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"Do tell," he said.

"Anakin hasn't quite come to grips with the situation that has befallen him, and I fear he is slipping into depression. He barely eats, rarely talks positively, and has given up on therapy. If the Senate goes through with their plan to plaster his injury all over the galaxy, I fear that he will only slip deeper into this…sadness. You know how much trouble he has giving his thoughts and problems to the Force. It is no different now. He would lose what is left of his dignity if they made him into propaganda. I know him too well," Obi-Wan said, pleading with the Council to understand what he was saying. No one knew Anakin like he did. And he _knew_ that this would destroy his already broken pride.

"Have you told this to the Senate?" Windu asked. Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I have not. This is the longest I have stayed away from my former Padawan," Obi-Wan replied sheepishly. It was true. Since the initial injury, Obi-Wan hadn't stayed away from Anakin longer than four hours. Here, he was going on seven.

"Do you good, to stay away, Master Kenobi. On the field, we need you still. To Naboo, you must go. Tomorrow, you will leave," Master Yoda said. Obi-Wan's eyes went wide.

"I couldn't possibly leave Anakin for that long. I am in charge of his—"

"Another, you can find. Would suffice, his Captain will. Teach him, you must."

"Masters, please, there must be another way. I could do double—"

"You need to return to the field now, Master Kenobi. The galaxy has been thrown into chaos and you're worried about a little boy's feelings. Priorities must be set," Master Windu said, standing from his chair. "I will see you tomorrow morning. Be ready."

"Of course," Obi-Wan managed. He knew that the Council's decision was for the better of the galaxy. It was for the best for him, as well.

It was a lot easier to leave Anakin when he was unconscious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Anakin was very conscious of the fact that the Halls were crawling with med corp. He knew that Master Che was probably only a room or two away. Still, he was itching to try out his newly-restored wheelchair, and now seemed like as good of time as any.

"Nothing too stupid, my reckless Jedi friend," Padmé said humorlessly. He knew that it was taking a lot out of her just to sit and watch, powerless to boss him around without Ahsoka catching on.

"Of course, my dear Senator. This is an absolute necessary risk to take. I have to prove to Master Che that my chair is far better than any hunk of machinery she has. C'mon, Snips, let's race!"

Obi-Wan Kenobi had many stories about his bravery in battle, but it was one thing to stand up to a mechanical monster, and another to talk a young man into taking care of a different man's business.

"Sir, I appreciate you thinking of me first, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for the job," Captain Rex said. He didn't sound nearly as uncomfortable with the situation as Obi-Wan did. In fact, Obi-Wan could sense his eagerness to help his General. It was only his doubt that held him back.

Obi-Wan had arrived back at the Halls of Healing only minutes before, locating the recovering clone quickly and getting right to the point. None of Obi-Wan's usual formalities were exchanged, no offers for tea and a long chat. He didn't like to doddle when it came to Anakin's wellbeing. He needed to be briefing Rex on how to perform the treatment, not sit here twiddling his thumbs and waiting for the Captain to believe in himself.

"Captain, you're not only my first choice, but my only choice. Are you willing?" Obi-Wan rushed. Rex nodded unconvincingly, then again with more confidence.

"Yes, sir. I'd do anything for the General."

"Good. Walk with me, Captain, and we'll get right to it. It's nearly time for his third treatment of the day. A demonstration is how I was taught."

They walked together briskly through the Halls, Obi-Wan barely slowing his pace to let the recovering Captain keep up.

Obi-Wan was so caught up in all he had to do to prepare for his absence that he almost got plowed over.

"Watch it, Obi-Wan!"

"Get out of the way, Master Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan looked up, jumping quickly to the side before two haphazardly speeding figures blew past him. His heart pounded against his ribs. Something was loose! _And he wasn't there to protect Anakin!_

But when Obi-Wan peeled himself off of the wall and got a better look at his attackers, he found that it wasn't something, but someone. _Two_ someones on the loose, for that matter. Two someones who would be wishing they were on the opposite side of the galaxy very, very soon.

Rex tried hard to stifle his laughter when he saw his General and Commander Tano racing through the Halls on medical equipment. _Leave it to them to make anything a competition,_ Rex thought fondly. He watched their receding figures, barely noticing General Kenobi stalking toward him.

"I don't have time for this. The Council is breathing down my neck about getting back to the warfront and here these two-two _nerf herders_ messing around in the Halls of Healing!"

Rex really did try to keep a straight face.

"Sir," he struggled to say, laughing hard. "It may be hard to believe after all that they've been through because of this war, but they _are_ still just kids. Let them have a little fun. Force knows how much the General could use a good laugh."

General Kenobi rubbed his face tiredly, acknowledging what Rex said with a nod. "You're right, of course. They need to have some fun. Just…not right now. Not when I cannot be by his side," Obi-Wan said wearily. Rex nodded, starting to jog after his General and Commander.

"I'll be right back, General!"

Then he sprinted after them, trying to get rid of the bubbly feeling he had growing in his chest. What was that feeling? It had been absent for so long, he could barely remember.

Was it hope?

* * *

Ahsoka was laughing so hard she was crying. Or maybe she was crying so hard she was laughing. She wasn't sure anymore. It just felt so good to be with her Master again.

Anakin's tied up hair had fallen out halfway through the race, but you could see it in his eyes that he didn't care. Ahsoka watched his arm muscles flex as he pushed his wheelchair harder, faster. Her top-of-the-line hoverchair was barely keeping up. _Something had to be done about that._

Zipping past frightened med corp members at lightning speed, Ahsoka flipped around in the hoverchair. Her Master was gaining a lead, but she could fix that. Ahsoka channeled the Force, then pushing against one of the walls she was flying past, her chair burst ahead of Anakin's.

"Hey!" Master Skywalker shouted indignantly. "That's cheating!"

Ahsoka wiped at the tears around her eyes. "I'm not cheating! I'm being resourceful!"

Anakin lifted his hands away from the lava-hot wheels. If his Padawan was going to bring the Force into this race, then so would he.

He lashed out with the Force, bringing Ahsoka's hoverchair to a screeching halt before using his power to move his own chair even faster. As soon as he was out of Ahsoka's line of sight, he grimaced. His shoulder obviously wasn't ready for such harsh treatment. His sling lay useless on his lap. Maybe he should have listened…

Anakin shook the pain off, letting his adrenaline carry him once more. He turned the corner sharply, letting his wheelchair buck as he almost tipped from the angle. Ahsoka was screeching something at him from far behind him. _Sore loser,_ Anakin thought happily. His Jedi sense started to prickle.

"Sir!"

"Rex _, get out of the way!"_

His Captain leapt to the side, barely out of reach from the rogue wheelchair. Anakin looked around him with wild eyes. He couldn't stop with his feet. His arms felt useless and sore. He closed his eyes waiting for impact with the wall.

Then he felt a tug at his back. His wheelchair was stopped. Despite the miracle that it seemed, he turned around slowly, dreading what he might see.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said sheepishly. "Back so soon?"

* * *

Obi-Wan stood behind Anakin, arms crossed, mouth drawn into a tight frown. He _knew_ something like this would happen. He just knew it. It made no sense for him to leave his reckless former padawan when every time he turned his back for more than three minutes he does something dangerous! He would go back to the Council, convince them that Anakin needed him here—

"General Kenobi, what's the next step?"

Rex stood next to him watching Obi-Wan prepare the medicine formula for Anakin's bowel treatment. Obi-Wan shook himself out of his angry haze, returning his thoughts to his work.

"Of course. Anakin can turn himself on his side on his own, but you'll need to pull his right leg forward, left leg straight. Once the medicine is inside of him, his body will do the rest of the work. Just get him to the 'fresher fast. Master Healer Che will return soon to reinsert the IV line."

Obi-Wan's transmitter bleeped at him, signaling an incoming call. He excused himself from his work and walked into the corridor. He hesitantly pressed the answering button.

"Plans have changed, Kenobi. We're leaving tonight. Gather up your things and be at the loading dock in an hour. Don't be late," Master Windu commanded. Obi-Wan bowed slightly. Could he tell him that he couldn't leave?

"I—I think that it would be best—"

"Obi-Wan. We have troops still out there. They're fighting a war. And what are you doing? Babysitting the so-called Chosen One so that he doesn't feel uncomfortable. The world doesn't stop for Skywalker's comfort, and nor does the war. I expect to see you at the docks."

And as the transmitter shut off, Obi-Wan could have sworn he was a fuse away from blowing up. How _dare_ a Jedi say such cold-hearted things about someone who has done nothing but sacrifice his whole life! Obi-Wan stormed back inside of the room, face red with fury.

"Sir?" Rex said hesitantly.

Anakin looked him in the eye. He was so tired, so sick of living with all the pain and hardship. All Anakin has done since he was born was lose. He lost his freedom, his mother, his ability to walk. Obi-Wan couldn't help but sense the immense sorrow Anakin carried with him every day.

Obi-Wan's anger melted away.

"The Council has moved the departure time to tonight. I'm afraid that this is where I leave you. Don't hesitate to send a message if you need anything," Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse. He then turned directly to Rex. "I'm trusting you with his life, Captain. I know you will do what is right."

"I'll do my very best, General."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said in a hushed tone. Then before he lost his resolve, Obi-Wan turned and fled the room.

* * *

Anakin laid on his side, shoulder aching, for what seemed like an eternity. Every second dragged by slowly, leaving Anakin wishing for Ahsoka and Padmé again, for a fun, carefree time. Anything but laying totally exposed in front of this Captain. Someone who has only ever seen him strong: the way everyone should see him. He didn't think that it could get any worse.

"General Skywalker?" Rex said, clearing his throat. "I don't want to make this any longer than it has to be, but General Kenobi didn't tell me what to…do. With the medicine. Once I've prepared it. I feel like an idiot, sir, but I have very little med knowledge and I don't want to mess this up—"

"Rex," Anakin interrupted, embarrassed beyond belief. If he had to explain to Rex where to stick the medicine, he may never return to his normal skin color. "Rex, you don't have to do any of this. Obi-Wan's the idiot, making you learn this so quick…and…and expect you to feel comfortable with me like-like _this._ It's beyond the call of duty."

Anakin sensed Rex stiffen behind him. "Sir, it may not be a part of my duty as a clone, but it _is_ my duty as a friend. It's more than a duty, it's an honor, sir."

Anakin smiled at the sentiment, but couldn't help but keep a straight face. "You said _duty,_ " Anakin choked out, his laugh echoing around the room. Rex started to snicker as well. Their low-pitched laughter contrasted the boyish joke. Soon, both men were clutching their sore stomachs, high on their own happiness. When they finally caught a grip on themselves, Rex sighed.

"We miss you, General. It's hard to express how much the 501st looks up to you. How much _I_ look up to you. You're a hard one to substitute."

Anakin furrowed his brow. "You mean replace," Anakin tried to correct. Rex grunted his objection.

"Sir, I will never forgive myself if I'm a part of the reason why you'll never lead the men again. You _have_ to come back," his Captain said, his voice sounding strange. Anakin himself had to fight down the lump forming in his throat.

"Rex, I…I can't. I won't return to battle again. You saw how helpless I was when I fought…fought the Chancellor. I can't protect my men if I can't protect myself," Anakin said, fighting off the chill running through his body. He hadn't thought of battle in a long time. The thought of it now…it shocked him full of longing.

"There's got to be a way," Rex tried.

"If there was, wouldn't it have been done?" Anakin shot back, anger threading through his voice. "I'm not able to be put together again!"

Rex fell silent.

"I'll just…find Master Healer Che, then. She'll know what to do about the medicine," Rex mumbled, walking slowly out of the room. "Would you be okay if I sent Senator Amidala in to look after you while I'm gone?"

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Don't need the Senator to babysit."

Rex shook his head, watching his General slump against his pillow, the joy he had witness only moments before disappearing fast. He pressed the exit pad with unnecessary force.

How could the galaxy be so unfair to his General?

Rex marched down the Halls, fist clenched so tight the skin atop his knuckled were stretched white. He had become so furious he almost stormed right past Senator Amidala and Commander Tano.

"Captain Rex?" the Senator said, surprised. "Where are you going?"

Rex shook himself out of his red haze. "Actually, to find you, Senator. Would you be willing to look after General Skywalker while I find Master Che, ma'am?"

The Senator looked at him meaningfully. "Of course I will, Captain."

"What about me?" Ahsoka asked, bouncing from heel to heel. Rex sent her a mischievous grin. The Commander continued to bounce.

"We're gonna get the General back on the battlefield."

Rex thought of the duty given to him by General Kenobi, but they barely finished running through his mind before he was back on his plan. Which would be better for General Skywalker? He saw firsthand the affects of a good joke. It had practically set the room aglow. What had the medicine done, just depress the poor man further? He felt his inner soldier fighting in his brain. He _had_ to follow orders…didn't he?

* * *

Vokara swiped a pile of useless archives off of her desk. Garbage, garbage, garbage! None of it was worth keeping, talking of insect bites and how to treat frostbite. A _fool_ could treat an insect bite! She needed to know how to fix paralysis!

She had been through her entire personal files, and had as of two days ago, moved on the the Jedi Archives. Why had no Healer ever written anything down about how to use Force Crystals to restore someone's ability to walk? _Someone_ must have encountered paraplegia within their time as a Healer!

So where was the information hiding?

She massaged the deep purple forming under her eyes. She was losing the battle against sleep, again. No, Vokara Che would not let herself get that far again. Not after what happened.

She picked herself out of her chair she had planted herself in. _I would not have been surprised if I had grown roots,_ Vokara mused. _Skywalker does have a way of making you inspired. Would I have done so much research for another patient?_

Vokara Che decided that she didn't want to answer that question.

At least, not consciously.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Rex and Ahsoka entered the recovery room, they found all of their help unconscious. Loud snoring echoed throughout the room. Rex rolled his eyes. Some men they'd become.

"Wake up, soldiers!" Rex commanded. Eyes snapped open quickly. "We've got a mission to perform that you're not going to want to sleep through."

Rather speedily, the clones got up and stood at attention, fuzzy heads all in a row. Leo, the clone trooper, looked about ready to drop when he stood up from his mattress. Underneath his eyes were large purple bruises, and his new mechno-arm hung heavily down at his side.

"Are you okay, Leo?" Ahsoka asked. She didn't want to drag him along on this crazy endeavor if he didn't feel healthy.

"Fine, Commander," Leo said unconvincingly. "Just didn't sleep well, that's all." Ahsoka looked at him skeptically. "I really want to come," he squeaked.

Rex nodded, watching his fellow brother carefully as well. "You can come, but let's get you a hoverchair, trooper. You look about as healthy as a Night Sister."

There was some snickering, but it was all subdued. It was obvious the clones felt that something was wrong with Leo. Ahsoka sensed it too. But, they didn't have time to argue whether or not the clone should come, so they granted Leo's plea to come along and placed him in a hoverchair. He only looked slightly less green off of his feet. It would have to do.

Ahsoka led the way stealthily. The clones behind her reminded her of when she was on the front, battling the Separatists instead of her own mind, and it gave her comfort. She almost looked to her left, expecting to see her Master smirking at her mischievously. When she realized he wouldn't be there, her spirit swooped low once more.

Rex felt as though he was back in the game.

His brothers sank into a low position, looking about as they passed more clone recovery rooms. It had the same stakes as the battlefield: get caught and you reap the consequences. The silence of his feet on the ground made Rex's heart soar. He was back, and Palpatine better watch his back when he does return, because he has a favor Rex is sure he has to deliver to the Chancellor. Personally.

Darth Sidious, he was told the Chancellor was calling himself now.

Finally, a name to match his face.

They slid around the corner soundlessly but for the whirring of the hoverchair. Leo was continually looking worse, yet nobody commented, so Rex assumed he was imagining things. The pressed on, farther away from the Halls and closer to the Jedi Temple's Hangar. Rex thought if he had any more excitement, his heart might burst. This was what he lived for: suspense.

The group of clones and their Commander walked into the hangar, celebrating their small victory silently. It was a miracle to get anywhere in the Halls without a med corp member wanting to look at your file to make sure you were supposed to be out of bed. Aggravating to no end.

"This is it," Rex whispered to the others. "Follow me."

They crept along the entrance of the hangar, following Rex's command. Commander Tano gasped when she saw what Rex had in mind. "You don't mean that that's—" she sputtered. Rex confirmed with a nod, pleased about his idea. He only heard what a morning full of mechanics did to his General, but he knew enough about him that he knew this would lighten his mood.

His very own ship to mess around with.

Rex has some of his own ideas to help with rewiring the system so that everything he needed to do to pilot the small ship was hands-only. He couldn't wait to see the General's face when he looked at it.

Ahsoka stared at the ship, excitement building inside her until she thought that she might burst. Her Master's going to flip when he sees this! Ahsoka ran toward the junky ship, taking in all of it's features. It seemed to be the color yellow in it's prime, although the hue was long forgotten. It's glass had a spider web of cracks covering it. The wings were bent and crunched in all of the important places. Still, it was the most beautiful piece of machinery Ahsoka had ever seen. Her Master would make it that way, she could sense it.

When the rest of the clones caught up to her, they shared a smile. Echo ran his fingers over the broken wing pensively. "This is you're brilliant plan to heal the General? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this just seems like a pile of scrap metal to me," he said, eyes never leaving the scratched surface of the fighter.

"Half right, half wrong," Rex said mysteriously. "I've been saving this thing here ever since the General and I went on that mission to Naboo. No one believed me when I said that it would come in handy someday. Well, looks like it's someday, boys. I'll need your help unloading these." Rex jumped onto the ship, rocking along with the swaying of the ship. Then placing a strong grip on the cracked glass, he heaved upward to pry the cockpit open. Inside were tons of pieces of droids, all bent and full of bullet holes.

"Practice targets!" Ahsoka cried joyfully.

"You got it, Commander," Rex confirmed. Ahsoka picked out a dinged-up droid head, turning it over and over in her hands. "Help me unload the rest of these into our recovery room, and when we get them fixed up we'll hand 'em over to you to for some target practice. We'll take General Skywalker any way he comes to us but unprepared."

"Actually," Ahsoka said, gears churning in her mind. "Let's bring them straight to Master Anakin's room. We'll have a blast putting these clankers together."

Fives nodded. "I couldn't agree more, but whatever we do…let's do it fast. Looks like Leo here's about to show us yesterday's dinner."

And right on cue, a rather sick-looking Leo threw up.

* * *

Anakin covered his face with his hands as his wife rolled up her sleeves and slipped medical gloves over her hands. This was it. He was going to die of embarrassment right here. At least it would be near Padmé…

"If you're just going to sit there silently, then I'm going to go find Master Che. And you won't get your bath," Padmé bargained. Anakin let out a low groan.

"Can't we wait for Obi-Wan to come back?" Anakin grumbled. Padmé slapped his bare arm lightly.

"We both know we can't wait for him. Who knows how long he'll be gone? And I am not going to be the one responsible for your….what did Master Che call it?"

"Uncooperative sphincter muscles," Anakin mumbled.

"Yes, that was it. I am not going to be the one responsible for your uncooperative sphincter muscles if you don't have the treatment. So, how do I start?"

Anakin didn't think it was possible for him to turn a deeper shade of red.

"Can't we wait for Rex? He knows what to do."

"If we wait for Rex, you won't get your bath."

"Maybe I don't want a bath!"

Padmé huffed out a laugh. Anakin went back to complaining.

"Please, Padmé, I know it's probably hard for you to imagine how embarrassing this is, but—" Anakin started, only to be interrupted by his growing-impatient wife.

"Ani, I'm not blind. I know this must be hard, but please, let me help. I don't want to see you suffer; that's not my goal here. I want to help in any way I can, and presently the way to help is your bowel treatment," Padmé said, her soft voice melting Anakin's stubbornness away.

"Fine," Anakin said quietly. "Start with lifting my right leg until it's at a right angle. Then adjust the left leg out straight." Padmé did as Anakin instructed. "Take the vial of jelly – should be to your left – and put a finger full in… there."

"You're doing great," Padmé whispered, opening the vial and inserting the jelly as she was told to do. "What's next?"

"Take the suppository – it's the little capsule – and put some of the jelly on that too. And…the suppository…eight centimeters in. Tell me when," Anakin stuttered out. Padmé wanted to hug him, squeeze him until he forgot all about how embarrassed he was. She eyed her intended target warily, before bracing her mind. She was wearing gloves. He was her husband. This wasn't as intimate...

"Now," Padmé said, pressing the small capsule in. Anakin sucked in a deep breath, holding it for ten counts, then released the breath slowly.

"Put pressure over...yeah…for five minutes and then I've gotta make my way to the 'fresher within twenty. Don't let it….fall out, okay? It's gotta stay in the whole time in order for this whole program to work."

"Okay," Padmé said, her voice barely audible. She pressed softly, then harder when she thought of the possible consequences if the suppository did fall out. Anakin would have to endure this whole process all over again.

Anakin started to shiver.

"What's wrong?" Padmé asked concern coloring her voice. Anakin grunted out some sort of response before his body jerked to the side. Gooseflesh started to form on his naked skin. Padmé's eyes traced her husband's body, her eyes growing wide. "Anakin, what's wrong?!" she said, more urgently this time.

Had she done something wrong?

Had she hurt her husband?

 _"M-my legs,"_ Anakin choked out through the pain. _"I can-n f-feel my legs."_

Then with a strangled cry, the Chosen One arched his back and all chaos broke loose.

* * *

Obi-Wan felt a searing dagger of pain in his mind, and immediately knew it wasn't the average headache. Anakin was in pain. And a lot of it.

Holding his forehead, Obi-Wan stumbled into the cockpit of the ship Master Windu had arranged for them to take to Naboo. Mace stood when Obi-Wan entered.

"Obi-Wan, what's the matter? Are you feeling sick? It has been a long time since you space travelled," Mace said, taking Obi-Wan by the shoulder and directing him to a seat near the front of the ship. Obi-Wan shook his head, trying to clear away the Force-induced headache.

"I was feeling quite well until a few minutes ago. I think something is wrong with Anakin. Our bond is pulsing with pain," Obi-Wan answered, palm still pressed to his temple. Mace grunted, clearly not buying the other Master's story.

"Your former Padawan is fine, Kenobi. You're just overreacting to your separation. We'll see if it goes away once we're in the heat of the battle." Obi-Wan shut his eyes, focusing on the second-hand agony he felt. "Obi-Wan. Try and relax for once, will you? You're not the boy's mother—"

"No, and nor will I ever be. But since I feel responsible for separating him from his rightful mother in the first place, I will do my very best to be the replacement for him until he is grown stable enough to not need a parental figure!" Obi-Wan shouted. Mace retreated to the piloting position once more.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Obi-Wan," he said, his voice bordering monotone. Obi-Wan returned his hand to his forehead.

The rest of the ride to Naboo was silent as the grave.

* * *

"It's just the after effects of the pain medicine," Leo argued before doubling over again. The clone hissed out a long, mellow note before continuing. "Nothing to be worried about. Let's get these clankers to the General."

Rex looked at Ahsoka, unimpressed with the soldier's act. "I think we'll take a stop by Master Che's beforehand, just in case," Rex said, taking ahold of Leo's hoverchair and nudging it in the direction of the Master Healer's office. Leo continued to protest, but his brothers had made up their minds.

Ahsoka sidled up to the unwell clone, looking him directly into his red eyes. "It's your arm, isn't it? Your arm is what hurts?" she guessed. Leo nodded, bleary eyes sliding shut as the small party moved back through the hangar and to the Halls of Healing once more.

"Just a bit," Leo squeaked. "I don't want it to ruin your plan, though, Commander Tano. I can make it."

"No one's being a martyr today, trooper," Fives said, sending his fellow clone a meaningful look. "We'll get you back into bed and you can sleep off the drugs."

"I don't want to stay in bed any longer. I did this whole prosthetic so that I could go back out onto the field, not sit in bed even longer. I just got word that my division got sent out with Jedi General Windu…and I'm not there with them," Leo said, frustration rising his tone. Echo joined the conversation.

"You're doing everything you can to get back to fighting alongside of your brothers, Leo. There's nothing to feel guilty about," Echo said, clapping the clone on the back softly. "You're a good man."

Leo blushed, fiddling with his sling. "Do you…do you think that General Skywalker would consider talking to me about dealing with…this mechno?" Leo asked, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"Of course he would!" Ahsoka chimed in. "My Master may sometimes be grumpy, but he's got the kindest heart of anyone I know. He'll try and help any way he can. I just know it. Now, let's get you back— _ah!_ "

Ahsoka fell to the ground, fingers digging hard into her scalp. Rex was by her side in seconds. "Commander? Ahsoka! What's wrong?" Rex shouted, frantically searching the area for a hidden sniper or blow dart. The area was secure…so what had hit his Commander?

"It's Master Skywalker," Ahsoka gasped. "He's hurting really bad!" And without looking to see if her clone companions were following her, Ahsoka stood and stumbled out of the hangar. "I've got to help him!" She started into a sideways gallop, hands still clutched to her head, toward her Master.

Guilt gripped Rex's heart.

General Kenobi told him to take care of Anakin, and what had he done? Run out as soon as their was adversity, placing a Senator in his place! What kind of Captain was he if he retreated from his General's battle? A failure, that's what he was. He didn't need any more proof. _He had failed his General again._

One million awful things ran through Rex's mind. Was it the Chancellor, back for revenge? A different Sith like Dooku or Ventress? A hired assassin? Or was it something as simple as General Skywalker fell out of bed?

Rex looked at what was left of his company.

 _There was only one way to find out,_ Rex thought.

"Echo, Fives: get Leo back to his room. Then find Master Che. I don't want to take any chances if she isn't there already. I'm going straight to the General. Don't waste time. Don't get stopped," Rex instructed. The two ARC troopers gave him a salute.

"Yes, sir!" they said in unison, running off with Leo's hoverchair speeding behind them. Rex turned, cracking his knuckles. The harsh sound echoed around the mostly empty hangar.

He wouldn't fail his General again.

* * *

Vokara Che thought the Halls must have been on fire for how fast the clones ran into her office. They wore expressions of the upmost sense of urgency: eyes wide, breath coming in short bursts. She stood up fast, her chair crashing violently behind her.

"It's General Skywalker, ma'am. Something's wrong," the clone that they call Echo panted. Vokara nodded, pushing past the two frantic clones, before speeding toward Skywalker's room. She was a long ways off before she heard the screaming.

Something _was_ wrong.

Picking up her flowing dress, she turned her fast walk into a jog, signaling random med corp members to follow her or get certain medical supplies. She could only guess what lied ahead of her.

Vokara pressed the entrance pad anxiously—the door opened far too slow—and shot inside of the room. The Senator stood above Skywalker's prone form, shushing him and stroking his forehead. As for Skywalker himself…

His eyes were shut tight, creases forming from the pain he was evidently in. His brow was dotted with beads of sweat, and his hair was soaked through as well. His body shuddered and jerked at random intervals, yet his legs lay motionless. A sob escaped Skywalker's trembling lips.

Vokara approached the scene carefully. "Skywalker, if you can answer me, where is your pain coming from? If you can tell me, I can take it away sooner," Vokara coached, checking his IV levels and heart rate swiftly while she spoke. Skywalker's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"It's his legs," the Senator spoke up. "He kept yelling that he could feel his legs." Tears were brimming around her wide eyes. _Rightfully so,_ Vokara Che thought to herself. _Quite traumatic for a Senator to witness._

"Doubtful," Vokara said, moving on to check Skywalker's catheter and leg position. She found the small tube to be tangled painfully. She sensed the Senator flinch when she pulled her patient's tunic up and fixed what seemed to be the underlying problem. "I was hoping that he would escape autonomic dysreflexic symptoms…but it seems as though fate is being unkind once again."

"What are you talking about?" the Senator asked, the tears she was trying to keep back now flowing freely down her face.

"The symptoms you see here with Skywalker are called autonomic dysreflexic symptoms, or AD symptoms. Headache, sweating, fever, tingling, phantom pains, muscle spasms: all of which Skywalker seems to be suffering from are caused by a pain in his half of his body that he cannot feel. That doesn't mean his body doesn't react to it. The pain elevates his blood pressure, which creates most of the symptoms, and Skywalker feels those symptoms instead of the original pain. Looks like this time it was caused by a twisted catheter. An easy fix," Vokara declared, watching as Skywalker's body slowly stopped twitching.

The Senator took a deep breath. "So…he couldn't feel his legs?" she asked, hope draining out of her with each word she spoke. Vokara shook her head.

"Phantom pains. His nerves are still very much affected by his paralysis. As much as I wish it was true, miraculous recoveries don't happen with injuries like his."

"I understand," the Senator said. Her fingers picked at her dress, seemingly fidgety. Vokara smirked.

"There is nothing wrong with holding Skywalker's hand, Senator. In fact, I think that he'd rather like it if you would," she said, sensing the Senator's relief once she vocalized her thoughts. The Senator entwined her slim fingers with Skywalker's, and they both watched with saddened hearts as the young Jedi fell gracefully into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Anakin regained consciousness slowly.

He dared not open his eyes, for fear of what he might find. He knew that he had felt his legs. The pain was intense, hot, and so very _real_ that he _knew_ that it couldn't have been his imagination. _His paralysis might not be permanent!_ The thought itself sent a shiver of excitement down his healing spine.

"Master?" an inquisitive voice said. "Master, are you with me?"

Anakin's hand twitched in response.

"He's awake! Master Che!" the voice, his padawan, shouted. Anakin heaved out a sigh. _Time to go back to reality, then,_ he thought gloomily.

"Open your eyes, Skywalker," Master Che instructed. Anakin whined, but painfully peeled his eyelids backward, fighting against the sleep gathered in the corners of his eyes. He sensed more people than just his padawan and Healer: four, maybe five people seemed to be crowded into the room with him.

He blinked twice. Then a third time.

What was half of the 501st doing in his room?

Doing a double take at his sudden clone companions, he raised a curious eyebrow. "Ahsoka….?"

"If you all would leave, I have a few things to discuss with Skywalker," Master Che said, something hidden in her tone. Anakin protested.

"No, wait! Stay. Whatever you have to say can wait. Ahsoka, _I could feel my legs_. It hurt, and I can't feel them anymore, but I _could_ and that means that I just have to figure out what I did to make me feel them and I could fix all of this! I could be…be your master again. Not whatever I am now."

Silence. Awkward, thick silence: the kind that made Anakin squirm.

"A word. With you, Skywalker. Alone," Master Che reiterated. Anakin threw off his sheets, mad at his Healer. Who was she to tell him who could be in his company? He didn't know what he was going to do, but the first step was getting out of bed—"Skywalker, unless your flashing us on purpose, I suggest you cover yourself up again."

Anakin looked down.

 _Oh, blast it all._

Scrambling for his sheets, Anakin bumped the IV needle out of his arm. It escaped his pale skin and hit the floor. The whole room heard it.

Anakin thumped his head against his pillow. _Why did nothing go right for him?_ Chest heaving from unwanted adrenaline, he turned his head back to Master Che, who was impatiently tapping her foot.

"Everyone. Leave. _Now,_ " she commanded.

His company shuffled out the door, leaving him alone with the intense gaze of the Healer. He plucked his sheets nervously.

"Skywalker, I do not gather any happiness from having to tell you this, but I fear it is necessary. The pain you felt in your legs was due to autonomic disreflexic symptoms, not because you are gaining feeling back in your lower half. Your catheter was twisted, causing you pain you cannot feel in your lower half. Still, it elevated your blood pressure, and your body reacted—"

 _"Stop!"_ Anakin shouted, desperation clear in his voice. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pressed to his closed eyelids. "Stop talking! I don't want to know all your medical crap; _I want to get better!_ I want to stop taking fifteen pills a day, having to maneuver with this blasted IV, not being able to stand! You want to know what is _necessary for me to know_?" Anakin paused, lifting his palms away from his tear-streaked face. Master Che stood nearby, face betraying no emotion. _"Is it permanent? Will I have to live like this forever?"_ The hoarse whisper seemed to echo around the room endlessly. The Healer looked away from her patient, seemingly gathering her thoughts.

"Anakin," Master Che started, shockingly using his first name. "I have been doing more research on your condition than any other patient I have ever treated. I have searched my personal files, the Archives, even through foreign files. I have not lost hope yet, Anakin, and as long as I haven't I'll be disappointed if you do."

The young man, who seemed so very much like a boy, gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut once again. His hair, still soaked from sweat, stuck up at odd angles making him look even younger.

"I don't think I have the strength to go on much longer, Master Che. Hope seems so _slippery_ : I think I've gotten a good hold on it and it still escapes my grasp," the boy said, lips trembling with every word. Master Che, against her better judgment, stooped down to grip his hand.

O _nce again, it was so many years ago, and Vokara Che had just corrected the seven fractured pieces of Anakin's arm. The explosion had rattled him greatly, and she had just hours ago battled his Master so he would stay in the corridor. The boy sniffled but did not cry even when she had to set the bone. He was strong; but even more so, he was stubborn. He would not cry in front of a Master Jedi. It wasn't until the very end, when she had sent him to rest in one of the recovery rooms, that the tears started to flow._

 _"What if it doesn't work when you take off the cast?" he had asked her. Vokara had smiled and taken the little Padawan's good hand._

 _"It will. Have hope, Skywalker," she had said. The little boy had squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. "Now get some rest. I will send your Master in soon."_

 _Vokara's memory sped forward until it was only a few years ago, when Skywalker and Kenobi had been dragged to her operation room: Skywalker with a stub for a right arm, and Kenobi with major lightsaber wounds. Both were barely conscious and hardly in any shape to be messed with, let alone separated. Vokara had seriously entertained the thought of operating on one while the other was still in the room. Instead, she went for a strong tranquilizer and separated the two men. Skywalker had screamed—harsh, ear-splitting scream—for his Master's presence. She had underestimated how strong their bond was._

 _"I can't do this without him!" he had sobbed. "I can't-can't—it's hurts, Master Che!" Another scream ripped itself out of the young man's throat as the med corp surrounded him and Master Che started to do preliminary testing. His words dug deeper into her heart than she wanted them to. "We almost died. We almost died, and now I wish I did," Skywalker whispered. Whether he meant to say it out loud is still a mystery. Vokara wanted it to remain that way._

 _"Don't you dare say that, Skywalker. Not when I am within earshot. I work double shifts to keep you out of death's door, and now you want to give up?"_

 _The sedative was starting to take an affect on the Jedi. "Whass the poin'? Don' wan' a handless Jedi, no good wiff a lighssaber anymore… galassy's coun'ing on me."_

 _Vokara couldn't believe she was reaching out for the thorn-in-her-side-patient's hand. "The galaxy can wait. Right now, I'm counting on you to not lose hope, and your Master is counting on you to train hard when you wake from the operation." Anakin nodded his head reluctantly, and the sedative took the fight out of him in one last swoop, sliding his eyelids closed._

Vokara was torn from her memories by realizing Skywalker was squeezing her hand back. She didn't realize that she was gripping it so tightly. She apologized profusely, not wanting to give him any more pain than necessary. Yet, when she tried to let go, Skywalker held fast.

"Wait, don't let go," Skywalker started, almost sheepishly. "I…I want to help you research. I don't know how much help I could be, but I'm sure that an extra set of eyes could help—"

"Skywalker," Vokara interrupted. "I don't need an extra set of eyes right now. I need you to start therapy."

Anakin's face drooped into an expression that could be mistaken as terrified.

"I'll try," Skywalker managed after a moment. "I'll try to keep my grip for a little while longer."

"That's the Skywalker I know," Vokara Che said, smiling.

And the little boy she's known—the stubborn, brave little boy—smiled back.

* * *

Ahsoka stood outside of her Master's room, heart still pounding. She had arrived in the room just as Anakin slid unconscious. Padmé's eyes were filled with tears, and she was holding her Master's hand. Ahsoka had looked between them, confused, then understanding.

Something was going on between them, and Ahsoka seemed to be the only one that knew.

Padmé had excused herself to take a Senate call moments before Anakin woke up. Ahsoka had sat vigilant at Master Skywalker's side, willing him awake so that she could ask him if he was okay, why was he in pain, what had happened, and so much more. Master Che wouldn't tell her anything.

Then when the Master Healer had asked her to leave the room…it was like salt in a wound. _That lady must hate me,_ she thought. _Why else would she keep me at arms length away from Master at all times?_

Rex sat beside her, still clad in a recovery outfit, looking so little like himself. He still wore gauze and bandages over the entry site of his surgery. His guns were tucked hastily into the fold of his pants. And here he sat, eyes closed, head resting against the wall of the corridor.

"Are you okay, Captain?" Echo asked, echoing Ahsoka's own question. The Captain didn't move.

"Just tired, I guess. I've had a long day," he answered unsatisfactorily. Ahsoka frowned. Rex was sounding like her Master.

"Seriously Rex, if you're not feeling well—" Ahsoka tried, only to be interrupted.

"I'm fine, Commander! Echo, Fives: I'm fine! Stop acting like I'm the one that was just unconscious."

Ahsoka almost smirked at her discovery. _So that's what this is all about,_ Ahsoka mused. _He feels guilty!_

"You're not at fault for any of this, Rex," Ahsoka stated solemnly. The Captain opened his eyes. "It's not your fault."

"How can you say that so easily? I'm no Jedi; I can't just give it all up to the Force and forget that I'm a failure."

Ahsoka slid closer to the Captain. "It's not forgetting, Rex: it's accepting. You accept the mistake made and then you accept it's in the past. Then, it's accepting yourself again," Ahsoka said, looking Rex in the eye. "Let me help."

"I—okay, Commander," Rex said reluctantly. Ahsoka smiled, content with the small progress she made with helping her Captain.

Just then, the door shifted open and Master Healer Che stepped out into the hall. The clones scrambled to stand up, as did Ahsoka. After a few seconds of chaos, Master Che spoke in a slow, deliberate voice.

"I will allow you all back into the room under one condition," Master Che said.

"Anything," Ahsoka responded quickly. Master Che raised an eyebrow before continuing.

"Skywalker is to be coerced out of bed, into his blasted wheelchair, and dressed appropriately within the next two hours. I will be expecting him in room forty five. Do not be late, and don't do anything rash," Master Che finished, and after making uncomfortable eye contact with each person standing in the corridor, walked away with robes billowing behind her.

"She scares the crap out of me," Fives mumbled once he was sure the Healer was out of hearing distance. Echo nodded in agreement. Rex clapped both of them heartily on the back before leading the small group back into the room they were forced from minutes before.

Rex swallowed his feelings that seemed to be wedged in his throat. He could put his failures behind him for his General. He _knew_ he could.

The General was sitting up straight in bed, IV reattached to his arm, other arm secured tightly in a sling. His chest was bare and Rex could only assume the rest of him was as well. He could get past that, too. It was his duty to help.

"Hey, Rex," General Skywalker said tiredly. "What'd she order you to do this time?" Rex grinned, walking slowly up to the man he had failed to protect time and time again. They clasped hands, Anakin being careful of his IV port, and Anakin pulled the guilt-ridden Captain into an uncomfortable hug. When they parted, Rex averted his gaze.

"Master Healer Che asked us to get you ready and deliver you to room forty five," Rex said, reverting back to his 'Captain voice.' Anakin frowned.

"Why?"

"She didn't say, sir."

"Fair enough."

Ahsoka cleared her throat, and her presence was acknowledged. "Hey, Snips," Anakin said, motioning her toward him. She took a couple hesitant steps. "C'mon, I don't bite…hard." He gave his Padawan a winsome smile, but it was hard to believe. The sleep deprivation and IV line, as well as the sweat soaked hair and hoarse voice sobered up the onlookers quickly.

"Master…" Ahsoka started, but couldn't finish. Something was definitely caught in her throat. Definitely.

"C'mere Snips," Anakin said again, pulling the girl close to his chest. Ahsoka sniffed, mad at herself for getting emotional. Why was she sad? Wasn't this what she had wanted all this time? "I've missed you."

 _Blast it all,_ Ahsoka cursed. _I'm not going to make it out of this hug with dry eyes._

"Master, I'm so sorry," she broke down, unwanted tears cascading down her cheeks. They splashed onto her Master's shoulder. "I'm sorry for not being there for you, and for coming in when I was told I shouldn't, and for-for _everything_ else. _I've been an awful padawan."_

Her Master broke away from their embrace.

Ahsoka noticed that his IV had been torn from his skin once again. He didn't seem to even notice.

"You," Master Skywalker said slowly. "Are not at fault for anything that has happened to me. And if you feel bad about me, or my condition, or anything in the past a second longer I'm going to take the closest sharp object and fight. That goes for you too, Rex. I don't want to make anyone else miserable…I've done enough of that."

Ahsoka nodded, wiping her nose to hide her embarrassment. Rex gave a loose salute. He seemed to be looking better already.

"Now," Anakin said, looking passively at the detached IV line. "I'm freezing. I think there's a spare tunic in one of the cupboards by the tank."

Ahsoka jumped at the chance to help, speeding toward the cupboard and peering inside. "Only medication bottles and bed sheets in here, Master!" she reported. She checked the surrounding drawers and doors. "No tunics or pants."

Anakin ran a hand through his damp locks. "Alright, check the bin by the door for a dirty pair. I'd at least like a pair of shorts."

Ahsoka did as she was told, and still came back with nothing. Rex joined the search, along with Echo and Fives.

"The heck?" Fives said in disbelief. "Has the whole _building_ been purged from clothes?" Echo started to chuckle.

After precious minutes spent searching the entire vicinity for articles of clothing, each person came back empty handed. Anakin's eyes dropped down to his sheets.

"Ahsoka, grab me one of those spare bed sheets. Rex, I need you to find the closest thing to tape," Anakin instructed, already pushing his legs off of the bed. Echo took an involuntary step toward him. The General glared. "I don't need help, soldier."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Ahsoka looked between her Master and Echo carefully before handing the former the sheet. Rex threw a roll of medical tape his way soon after.

"If you wouldn't mind," Anakin suggested, and Ahsoka took the hint, turning away from her Master quickly. "Rex?"

"Sir, what exactly do you have in mind?" Rex asked. General Skywalker smiled, motioning him over before handing him the sheet.

"Can't find any clothes? Make your own. That's what my mom used to do when we'd run out of money and I grew too tall to fit in my old clothes. If I use your shoulder for support, you can wrap the sheet underneath me and I'll handle it from there. Echo, right?" Anakin checked. The trooper nodded his head. "Great. Push my wheelchair a little closer. I'll try and fall back into it."

Rex came to his General's aid, giving a shoulder to Anakin before lifting the much lighter man off of the bed. Then, trying to still respect his General's privacy, he quickly wrapped the sheet around Anakin's waist and guided his fall into the chair. Anakin was panting hard by the time the ordeal was over.

"Well," he said breathlessly. "That wasn't so bad. Give me a second and we'll be ready to go."

Then with swift hands, Anakin tied and tucked the sheet until it resembled a long skirt. _Somehow,_ Rex thought, _the General can even make a skirt seem manly._

Ahsoka grabbed ahold of the handles of her Master's chair, eagerly pushing him out the door of his room. "Where's room forty five, Master?" Ahsoka asked, unsure of which way to turn.

"I've never seen a room forty five," Anakin said, shrugging lightly. The clones hurried out behind them. _Strange,_ Ahsoka thought, biting her lip. _Master's been everywhere around here and even he doesn't know where it is._

"Left?" Rex suggested.

"Left it is," Anakin confirmed. And together, the group walked toward the unknown, conscious only of the fact that they were moving forward together, and the past was behind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Rex was more than conscious of the fact that no one had heard of this mysterious room forty five. Actually, he was _acutely_ aware of the fact that there was no map, no description, or even an inkling of an idea that the room existed.

 _I swear,_ Rex thought, _If that lady is sending us on a wild chase, I am not responsible for my actions._

General Skywalker seemed anything but deterred by the mystery. "Let's take a right now," he would say, pointing at random doors and corridors. "We took a left last time."

"Sir? Are you sure that's the right way?" Fives questioned, looking at the darkened hallway. Anakin and simply let his hands glide over the warming wheels of his chair.

"Well, since my gut stopped working a long time ago, I've got no choice but to follow pure logic. I'd say, if the room doesn't want to be found, then we have to get lost."

Rex blinked a couple of times.

 _The heck is he talking about?_

Nevertheless, Rex followed his General into the dimly lit corridor, taking in every detail. _It could be a trap,_ he reminded himself. _Not even the Halls of Healing are impenetrable._

Ahsoka bounced lightly beside him. "Do you smell that?" she asked, lurching the wheelchair to a stop. "It smells like…"

"The sea?" Anakin supplied, waving Ahsoka's hands off of his chair before wheeling himself toward the smell.

"Sir, there isn't a number on this door," Echo said helpfully. "Besides, we passed the rest of the forty rooms a while back. It's not the right room."

"Easy, soldier," Anakin said, his tone sounding a lot like General Kenobi's when he was about to give one of those life lessons to his men. "Don't always let your eyes decide what is right and what is wrong."

Rex blinked again.

 _Who was this and where did his General go?_

Anakin ran his fingers over the smooth metal door, searching for some way to get in. Despite what he had told his companions—that his gut didn't work—he knew that this _must_ have been the right room. It radiated something—something special—like change on the wind or success on the tip of the tongue.

It made him uneasy, yet it exhilarated him at the same time.

Just as Ahsoka reached for the handles of his chair once again, clearly giving up, Anakin's finger flicked against a catch on the door. He stiffened. The once flawless metal coat peeled off at Anakin's touch, revealing the beaten-up, weary numbers _45._

Anakin smirked. "Found it."

He took a glance behind him to see the awestruck faces of his companions. Ahsoka's mouth hung open slightly. The ARC troopers just shook their heads, sheepish smiles on their faces. Rex walked up and clapped Anakin on the back.

"Sir, you never cease to amaze me," his Captain said. Then, giving the door a healthy shove, Rex pushed open the door.

The cool, salty air assaulted their faces as Anakin said:

"No turning back now. No excuses."

His companions echoed his creed.

* * *

Obi-Wan walked alongside of Master Windu sulkily, fingers entwined in his sweat-soaked beard. They had been trudging across Naboo all day, following an anonymous tip that the former Chancellor had been spotted with a group of rogue clones near the Eastern Swamps. Barely containing his worry for Anakin was hard enough when he was fully rested and fed: what they were asking of him now was impossible! How was he to focus on the mission when—

"We're here, Kenobi. If you would stop brooding about your Padawan and fiddling with that beard of yours, maybe we could talk some strategy?" Master Windu mocked. Obi-Wan felt his ears tint red as he responded to the bold Jedi.

"Of course, Master Windu. Shall I also forego my usual afternoon tea, and perhaps pick a different colored tunic?" he said, all but hiding his sarcasm. Mace rolled his eyes before motioning their small platoon of clones together for a briefing.

"Would you do the honors?" Mace taunted. Obi-Wan's face burned, but he managed a polite nod before turning to face the troopers gathered.

"As you all are well aware, Palpatine is not someone to take lightly. Not only has he infiltrated the Republic to it's very core, but he has also gotten into the Halls of Healing, as well as your inner workings. Thankfully, you've all received the surgery to reclaim your minds from Palpatine's grasp…some of your counterparts haven't been so lucky. Be aware of who is on your side, and who is not. If a fellow comrade of yours is fighting with Palpatine instead of against…I trust you all to do what is right. I am sorry," Obi-Wan finished, looking his men in the eyes.

Most of the clones had put on a brave face for the battle. Others had a harder time hiding their remorse for what they were being asked to do. Obi-Wan didn't blame them. He was asking them to shoot at family.

"Ready your weapons and form your ranks. We will advance on Palpatine's position soon," Mace ordered. After a chorus of _"Yessir!"_ s, Mace pulled Obi-Wan aside. "That was not what we went over. _Where was the battle strategy?_ All you did was give some sort of emotional speech!"

Obi-Wan looked at Mace, bewildered. "What we are asking them to do is unthinkable!"

"I will do what I must to capture Palpatine. As long as he is alive, we will see more than just clone deaths. Our whole galaxy is in danger, Kenobi, and you're asking me _what?"_

Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath in.

He had sensed this mission was going to be trouble from the start.

* * *

Ahsoka didn't know how many more surprises she could take.

First, her Master's incredible senses (screw his gut, his _brain_ is still very much in tact) and then his strange wise words, and now _this!_

Master Skywalker was the first person inside of the room, despite it being Rex who pushed the door open. Ahsoka almost crashed into his wheelchair at how suddenly he stopped in the doorway.

And she could understand why.

The whole room was dimly lit, half sand and dirt, half stone paved. In the middle of the large room was a boxy-looking body of water. The smell of sea was obviously radiating from the water, but it barely had Anakin's attention now. All he could think about was what Master Che had said, and what he had promised.

 _"I need you to start therapy."_

 _"I'll try…I'll try to keep my grip for a little while longer."_

 _"That's the Skywalker I know."_

Getting better…what did the road look like? He had taken it so many times before, yet the path eluded him now. One had to work hard, of that he was certain. One couldn't ever give in. What had he said, before he had entered into the room? _No turning back now. No excuses._ Did he believe that?

Anakin sensed movement behind him and jerked his head to the side, just in time to catch Master Che flicking on the electric lights. The group let out a chorus of groans as their eyes adjusted.

"I'm glad you all can follow directions," Master Che said snarkily. "But I happen to notice that Skywalker is missing a few key parts. Where is his IV, and even more importantly: where are Skywalker's clothes?"

Rex took a shaky breath in. If his strategy-instincts told him anything, it was that Master Che was behind the clothes dilemma. It made sense: the pool, the late entrance, the extra sheets. And now, Rex spotted two pairs of black swimming trunks folded neatly next to a pair of shoes.

Wait… _two_ pairs of trunks?

"With all due respect, ma'am, we searched the entire perimeter and could find nothing for the General to wear. If it wasn't for his quick thinking, we would have been late for this…meeting," Rex said, trying to contain his suspicion.

"Hm," Master Che said noncommittally. It did anything but quell Rex's suspicions. Something sly was in the Healer's eyes, and he didn't like it. "Well, I happen to have a pair of shorts that Skywalker could use, if you wouldn't mind helping him change into them."

Rex was still waiting for the catch.

There was _always_ a catch.

"Well, ma'am, last time I checked General Skywalker doesn't have two sets of legs. Who's the second pair for?" Rex pressed, tired of waiting for the Healer to tell him herself. She smirked, crossing the large room to pick up the smooth, black fabric.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, they're for _you_ ," Master Healer Che said, tossing the pairs toward Rex. He caught them deftly. "I could think of no one better to be Skywalker's therapy partner, since you yourself could use some exercise to work yourself back into shape. It may seem slow, but it is ultimately up to you two on how fast you regain your strength. I will give you time to change before we begin."

Rex _knew_ there was a catch.

 _Sly Healer._

As Rex grabbed on to the General's wheelchair handles, he heard Ahsoka start up another debate with the Healer, pleading with the older woman to let her stay and support her Master. The obvious answer hung thick in the air.

"No, young Ahsoka. Now is not the time."

Rex flinched at how harsh the words came across, and he could practically feel the air crackle with emotion. Rex pushed the wheelchair a little faster, maneuvering over the stone-paved ground as if he had been doing it his whole life. Rex, despite everything he had been through, hated conflicts like this. It made it hard for him to breath easy. It got even worse when it had to do with Ahsoka.

"Rex," Anakin whispered, eyes searching his Captain's face. "Rex, it's okay. Breath."

Anakin watched uncomfortably as a single bead of sweat rolled down Rex's temple. The man was panicking…but over what? Being a part of his therapy? Master Che's words? Ahsoka?

 _Oh…_

Rex rolled maniacally into the 'fresher at the end of room forty five, forcing Anakin to grip onto his armrests with white knuckles. If he fell out now, with Rex in whatever state this was, he was sure he'd be run over.

"Rex, slow down, okay? It's okay!"

Rex, as if he was finally hearing Anakin's words, jerked the wheelchair into a stopped position. Inching out of Rex's grip, Anakin turned his chair around to face his friend. The battle-hardened Captain's face was pale, and his hands trembled.

Anakin grabbed on to Rex's elbows (he couldn't very well reach his shoulders) to steady him. Rex made hesitant eye contact.

"S-sorry, sir, I'm not sure what's come over me," Rex stuttered. Anakin awkwardly wheeled backwards, pulling Rex along with him, to the benches along the wall of the 'fresher. After making Rex sit, Anakin addressed what his Captain had voiced.

"Sometimes…we see conflict to make us stronger, Rex. And I'm not sure why Master Che won't let Ahsoka get near me—Force knows it _better_ be for a good reason—but you've got to let it go. She's a tough girl, Rex. She can handle herself." Anakin didn't miss the subtle flinch when he mentioned Ahsoka. "No one blames you for not killing Palpatine. _I_ don't blame you for not killing Palpatine. What matters is you were there for me, and for Ahsoka. Rex, I can think of _no one_ better to protect her. Don't take it so hard, Captain. You might think you're supposed to be the ultimate soldier, but you're still just a man. _You're just a man."_

There was a beat of silence.

"General—" Rex started.

"Call me Anakin," Anakin said, taking Rex's hand and shaking it as if it were their first meeting all over again. "We've got a long road ahead of us, Rex. Are you ready to take it with me?"

"Absolutely. To the ends of the galaxy."

Anakin pulled his beloved friend into an embrace. "Now, let's get these trunks on before Master Che accuses both of us stalling. I'm going to need some help."

* * *

Ahsoka stormed out of the room, hot tears threatening to spill over. She felt dangerous, volatile. Even Echo and Fives followed a safe distance behind her, unsure of what their Commander was up to.

Honestly, Ahsoka wasn't so sure herself.

All she knew was that Master Che was trying to keep her away from her Master, not caring about her feelings _or_ what her Master wanted. She _knew_ that Master Skywalker wanted her close. So why was that Healer pushing her away?

 _There has got to be a way to get back at her._

Ahsoka tried to get rid of the idea. _How un-Jedi of me,_ she thought. What had her Master said before they walked into the room?

"No turning back now. No excuses."

Ahsoka spoke the word aloud, letting each syllable echo around the corridors she sped through.

And as she turned, she saw the seats where she had sat in with Obi-Wan so long ago: back when she was young and afraid. Without stopping to reminisce, she let her daydreams of revenge danced through her consciousness like wildfire.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Anakin thought he might fall unconscious at any minute.

 _Starting slow,_ Anakin groused. _My foot._

His arms shook from the effort it took to hold himself upright. He was wet from falling under the water so many times. His legs felt like unattached tentacles he was forced to drag around beneath him. Breath was precious, and came in short gasps.

"Skywalker," Master Che said, her voice stern. Anakin shot her a look through the threads of hair that hung over his face, dripping water onto his nose and in his eyes. "It's the last exercise for today. I promise you."

With the end in sight, Anakin adjusted his grip on the cold metal bar in front of him and braced himself for the worst. Master Che had pushed him well beyond the limit he had set for himself. He had done endless sessions of core, and floundered in the water until his lungs felt like full glasses of water. No matter what his pleas were—for Rex to help him, for Master Che to stop the session—no one listened.

Rex felt as if there was a large boulder lodged in his throat. Watching his General—wait, no, he had told him to call him Anakin—fall and hurt and struggle made his heart break all over again. Still, no matter how impossible the next exercise seemed, Anakin would work up the strength to complete it.

Master Healer Che was ruthless. She would instruct both Anakin and Rex what they should be doing, correcting them constantly. Rex was covered in sweat within minutes of starting. Two hours later, and they were still dragging their bone-tired bodies around in the salty water.

"Rex, take a side of Skywalker and I'll take the other. Anakin," Master Che said, her tone changing when she said Anakin's first name. "I'm going to ask you to walk for me."

Anakin's eyes slid shut, as if he was accepting his defeat prematurely. "You know I can't. My legs are useless."

Master Che took him by the shoulders, jarring him slightly, as if she was trying to wake him up. "They are only as useless as you believe they are. Now, you will have both of us at your side in a moments notice if you feel any sort of pain. Do not be afraid to fall," Master Che said, giving Rex a signal to take his place on Anakin's left side. "We will catch you."

"I'm not afraid to fall," Anakin argued. He swung his wet hair to the side, trying to clear it away from his eyes. Accidentally, Anakin caught Rex's stare. "I-I… I'm afraid of not being able to get back up again."

"Sir—Anakin, I'll always be here to pick you up," Rex supplied, not breaking eye contact with his General.

"Thanks Rex," Anakin managed, his voice barely a whisper. He looked completely exhausted. To tell the truth, Rex felt the same way.

Vokara Che took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. The almost-grown men in the water with her turned their attention back to her instructions. She stepped back from her patient, making sure that she was still close enough to help if something went wrong. She hoped nothing would. The boy had enough bad luck as it was.

His clone companion let go of Skywalker's bicep reluctantly at her command. Then, Skywalker gripped the railings with white knuckles, hauling himself forward at a painfully slow speed. Vokara watched carefully, studying how Skywalker's legs moved, now his arms compensated, and how Skywalker seemed acted.

Skywalker was nearing the end of the railings.

"Keep going," Vokara said, her voice hushed for no good reason except for that this moment seemed so sacred she dared not be the one to ruin it. Skywalker gave her an uneasy glance before he let go of the rails.

He stumbled, but the clone caught him.

And then, in a single motion, Anakin pushed off of Rex and back onto his own power. For six glorious seconds, he stood on his own.

Then he sank underneath the surface of the water.

Vokara let of a squeak before she plunged her hands under the water to scoop Skywalker back to the surface. Rex did the same, pulling the trembling young man up and supporting him as he hacked up an endless amount of water. Water dribbled out of his nose, tangled in his eyelashes, and mixed perfectly with the beads of sweat that clung to Skywalker's form. And for a second, Vokara thought of giving in and letting Skywalker go change.

She came to her senses quickly.

 _Skywalker's success depends on me being the bad guy. You can do this for Skywalker—for that brave little boy you know and hold so dearly._

"Let go of him, Rex," Vokara commanded. The clone looked at her as if she had gone insane. Perhaps she had.

"You can't be serious," Rex said in disbelief. "He nearly drown from exhaustion…and you want him to keep _going?"_

"I said let go," Vokara rephrased, swallowing her guilt whole.

The clone dutifully started to let his friend out of his grip. Anakin let out a whimper.

 _"Please,"_ the boy cried softly. _"Please, I can't do this_. I-I can't walk so _don't make me try again_. I never will, don't you _see? Please."_

His plea fell on deaf ears.

Rex's hand left Skywalker's shoulder. The boy with tears in his eyes cried out again, barely keeping his head above the water, swishing his arms about him to try and keep him afloat. Vokara bit down hard on her lip to keep herself from doing anything rash. _This was for his good. This was all for his good._

Only a meter away from the edge of the pool, yet it seemed so far away.

Anakin's fingernails dug into his thighs, as if pain could make his legs work again. For a scary second, Vokara realized that was exactly what he was doing.

"Anakin Skywalker!" she shouted, grabbing onto his elbow and nearly throwing him to the edge of the pool. "You will not accomplish anything by giving yourself more pain. What you felt the other day—that moment where you thought you could feel your legs—it is not real. It is only a replacement pain. You cannot inflict that upon yourself again in hopes that it will spark your legs to life. Only determination will do that."

A grimace came upon the little boy's face— _wasn't it only yesterday she was placing plaster on his arm and shooing his Master away?—_ and Vokara saw messy tears start to form.

 _More salt water to add to the pool,_ Vokara thought detachedly.

"Master I'm sorry!" Anakin sobbed. " _I'm sorry_. I'm not strong enough!"

Vokara looked from the clone's shocked face and back to her patient's. She was Vokara Che. She did not do comfort.

And yet, she found herself reaching around the boy's wet shoulders and squeezing him tightly to her chest. She tugged his wet, uncooperative hair out of his face and smoothed it away with a mother's hand, not a physician's.

"Anakin, you are the _strongest_ person I know. Let no one tell you anything different," Vokara whispered. Anakin melted into her embrace, as if it alone could keep his head above the water.

Blinking quickly to keep her tears at bay, Vokara let out a short laugh. "Now, let's get you changed and ready for your bowel treatment. I believe I've made you suffer long enough in these uncomfortable trunks."

The clone gave a cheer of agreement. "Ma'am, I thought you'd never say those words."

Without letting go of his Healer, Anakin was helped out of the pool and back into his chair. Almost instantaneously, the boy fell asleep, head lolling back against his friend's chest behind him.

"I trust you can get him back into his tunic?" Vokara confirmed, smiling fondly at the tired Skywalker. Rex shrugged.

"Yes ma'am. I'm sure we'll managed that…what I'm worried about is getting us back to his room."

Vokara rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't leave her face. "I'll wait here and escort you two back. Honestly, I have to do everything around here."

Rex, _finally,_ returned her smile. Then, rolling his friend carefully over the stone pavement, the two survivors disappeared into the 'fresher.

* * *

Padmé tapped her foot impatiently as she watch the clock tick at an unbelievable unfair pace. The propaganda to end the war was nearing completion. All that was left was to get the holograms of Anakin delivered to the production line.

The problem was, Padmé was supposed to be in charge of taking the short holo. And she just _couldn't_ bring herself to face him like this. Like he was a publisher's boy, all dressed up and ready to be plastered all over the city. She couldn't do that to Anakin. Not now. Not ever.

The Senate didn't see her side of the argument.

Which is why she was forced to sit in the stiflingly hot meeting room, surrounded by unfeeling Senators who could care less about one Jedi's feelings.

One Jedi that was very dear to her heart.

"Senator Amidala, do you agree?"

Padmé quickly looked away from the clock, trying desperately to catch on to the conversation. What were they talking about again?

"Forgive me, Senators," Padmé started, trying to sound composed. "My attention has been elsewhere. Would you mind giving me the last few minutes of conversation?"

The Senators bristled. Padmé held her ground, looking each of the Senators in the eye before adding a small smile.

"Very well, Senator Amidala."

Padmé could almost imagine Anakin grinning at her boldness. His laugh when the Senators all grumbled about her age. His arms around her and his lips on her forehead for standing up for what was right.

"And that's why we need your opinion, Senator Amidala. You seem very invested in this disabled Jedi. We want every area covered so that there is no backlash on the Senate."

Padmé stared up at the ceiling, baffled that she had missed the whole conversation yet again. She couldn't bear to tell them she had zoned out again. So, she decided quickly to do the next best thing.

"Well, why don't I go down and ask him myself? A weekend away at least, and I'll have your answer," Padmé pushed, voice rising passed where she had expected. Before anyone could say otherwise, Padmé pushed back her chair, bowed slightly, picked up her skirt and sped out of the boiling hot room. Sweat dripped down her back indelicately as she broke into a fast walk, then a run as her ship came into sight. Motioning to her Captain, she boarded the shining vessel before collapsing into the cockpit and programming the destination she desired.

Captain Typho was behind her suddenly, catching her off guard. Where was her mind? She was a bumbling fool for no apparent reason except for the fact that she was in love. In love, and desperate to make sure her husband wasn't abused.

"Captain Typho," Padmé said, still catching her breath from her sprint. "You caught me by surprise." Her Captain simply raised an eyebrow. "We need to get to the Halls of Healing. Senate's orders."

Typho sat down in the seat next to her, suspicion radiating off of him like the sunbeams that scorched Coruscant today. "Ma'am, I don't mean to show any distrust, but Senate orders don't usually send you sprinting out of the building. What's going on?" her wonderful, too-careful Captain calculatedly said.

How much could she tell?

"Captain, everything is so confusing these days," Padmé cried, fisting her hands and slamming them into the armrests of her seat. "I can't make sense of anything the Senators ask of me, or what I'm supposed to do or be. It's like I'm back to being that-that _foolish_ little girl again."

Silence filled the ship as the coordinates kicked in, and they glided out of the Senate hangar and toward her husband. With his unyielding love and stubbornness and determination. And those fiery pools for eyes, always searching her heart—

"Padmé!"

She blinked hard, trying to clear away her daydreams. Her Captain was looking worried: hard creases were forming above his brow. "Ma'am, I think it's time I told you what I've been thinking for a long time now."

Padmé swallowed hard.

 _Blast it all, Anakin. If I'm the one that ruins us I will never forgive myself._

"You love that disabled Jedi, don't you?"

Padmé closed her eyes, words and sentences of apology were tossed around her head along with terrible lies to cover their secret once again. She knew what the right thing to do was. The only question was if she was brave enough to say it.

"I've loved him for a very long time, Typho. It is simply too bad he cannot return the feeling," Padmé said, forcing each word out of her heart.

Typho's hand was then on her shoulder. Reassuring, comforting words spilled over and filled the ship, but Padmé didn't hear them. She ached to tell Typho everything, but she refrained.

 _Was she protecting their secret, or herself?_

 _Did it even matter any longer?_

* * *

Echo and Fives stood at the farthest point in the room and _still_ felt as if they were too close to their Commander. They didn't need to be Jedi to sense what she was feeling: pure, unadulterated anger.

Yet, as nervous as they both seemed, Leo called out to their Commander. Their silent warning and distance seemed to blow right over the younger clone's head.

"Commander Tano! I didn't think you were coming back," Leo said, his voice tired but happy. He missed the dangerous glint in Ahsoka's eyes, the tight fists at her side. Ahsoka knelt down by his bedside, taking in the sorry sight.

Leo had been attached to an IV line similar to General Skywalker's, bags of liquid dripping their substances into the crook of Leo's elbow. His mecho arm was taken out of the sling and wrappings, displaying the angry-looking scars and stitches that bridged the gap between flesh and metal. He had been changed into a hospital gown again, making his brothers flinch. Back in the gown meant that he was getting worse, not better.

"Of course we came back!" Ahsoka gushed, finding Leo's new look just as sad. Echo nudged Fives with his elbow. _Something dangerous was hidden inside of her tone._ "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Leo answered, shrugging. "They put me back on the pain medication, since they thought that running out was the problem in the first place. I hate to be dependent on a drug." Leo spat out the last sentence, disgusted with himself for needing relief from the immense pain he was in. Ahsoka nodded.

"I'm sick of being dependent too…but if you're willing to help me out, I think I can fix it."

Leo shrugged again. "Sure, Commander. Problem is, I've got to stay in bed. Med corp's orders."

Echo and Fives let out a collective sigh of relief.

"No problem!" Ahsoka said cheerfully. "You can do your part right from here. C'mon Echo, Fives. We've gotta go get those droids from the hangar!"

After giving Leo a quick squeeze on the shoulder, Ahsoka pulled Echo and Fives out of the room. In their wake, Leo wondered what on earth the Commander could be up to with those droids.

Still, as the drugs kicked in, whatever scheming they could be up to slipped the sleepy clone's mind. Within a minute or two before Ahsoka's return, Leo slipped into painless unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **This chapter is a heavy one. Just giving all a fair warning without spoiling anything.**

* * *

Anakin stared straight ahead, trying to block out the voices from his conscious mind. _They weren't talking about him. They're talking about someone else._

"So the gel goes in first, then the suppository," Rex confirmed. Master Che clanked something together behind him. Anakin shivered against his will.

"Yes, Captain. Now stop second guessing yourself and finish the job," Master Che grumbled. Anakin winced as Rex pressed his clammy hand to his back, steadying himself. As healed as his spine may be, it was still tender to the touch.

Especially after all the work it was just put through.

Master Che had woken him up so that he would be ready to get to the 'fresher after she went through the steps to the treatment one more time with Rex (blasted Kenobi and his poor instruction). The small amount of blessed rest was cut short, and Anakin was forced to be conscious for the whole program.

Not. Cool.

Anakin felt his eyelids drooping as he tried to zone out the busyness behind him. _If he could only get a few more winks of sleep, then maybe things wouldn't seem so dismal. Just a couple minutes, then…_

His eyes slid shut and he was asleep again, steered into a dream within seconds. He saw Obi-Wan, lightsaber raised and blazing. There was blood seeping from a wound on his chest, turning the usually very clean and crisp tunic a deep rusted color.

 _"You can't keep going like this, General!" someone shouted. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, seemingly fighting back the burning desire to fall over, let the darkness win. When he opened them, Anakin thought he could see flames dancing in his pupils._

 _"Do not lose heart, men! I understand your concern, but I am stronger than a wound such as this. Press forward! I'll have your backs," Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse, agony laced throughout every syllable. Anakin wanted to scream, tell Obi-Wan to sit down, get a medic, do something other than keep walking toward whatever they were fighting. Or, whoever they were fighting._

"Skywalker."

 _Anakin watched in horror as the clones surrounding his Master left him, turning back around and charging back into the fight. No, they couldn't leave Obi-Wan! He wasn't fine, he was badly injured!_

"Skywalker…"

 _As the last clone turned his back, Obi-Wan Kenobi, the strongest pillar in Anakin's life, collapsed onto the ground clutching at his wound._

"Skywalker!"

Anakin was jerked out of the nightmare by Rex's yelp and Master Che's firm shaking. He blinked, thinking of what he saw, sure that it was urgent. "Master Che, I think that Master Ke—"

"Skywalker, I need you to cooperate with me. Get into your wheelchair. Now," Master Che ordered, clearly in no mood to go over Anakin's dreams with him. Whatever motherly tone she had used with him earlier in the day seemed to be obliterated. Harshly obliterated.

Anakin started pulling himself into a sitting position when he heard Rex swear. Then swear again. Anakin looked around him, then let out a string of curses himself.

 _Another accident._

This time, he couldn't blame it on the new med corp assistant.

Picking up his pace, _trying so hard to hold it in_ , Anakin was helped into his chair and rushed to the 'fresher. _Falling asleep, plus the nightmare, must have messed with the program._

Master Che didn't even shut the door, just stood with her back to him. He felt absolutely awful.

 _He had let down Master Che._

 _Rex had seen it._

Without as much as giving him the decency to crap alone, Master Che started ordering around the med corp that had rushed to their head Healer's side. _Clean here, dispose that, hand that to me._

He was an adult. A Jedi. An independent, free, _hospitalized_ man who can't control his own bowels. The question that had jumbled up his thoughts for the last three months came rushing back to him, full force: _why, of all people, did it have to be me that became paralyzed?_

Then the image of Obi-Wan, alone, hurt, on the battlefield shattered Anakin's self-pity. He needed to tell the others before it was too late for Obi-Wan to…

Anakin's breathing picked up pace.

He skin prickled with the beginning of a feverish sweat.

 _Obi-Wan could be dead._

"Mast-ter Che!" Anakin managed, trying to pull himself off of the toilet. "Mast— _ghh."_ Anakin doubled over, clutching his chest. What little food he had eaten earlier in the day seemed to be gathered in his throat uncomfortably, not to mention his chest feeling like it was about to explode.

 _Obi-Wan's pain._

Vokara Che turned around slowly, sure that Skywalker was being overly-dramatic. She knew he was embarrassed about the accident (that her med corp members were currently grumbling about cleaning up), but it was new for him to seek out her help. He was a stubborn one, Skywalker.

What she expected to see was the exact opposite of what her eyes reported she was seeing.

Skywalker was hunched over, fingernails digging bloody crescents into his torso, as he evidently was trying to ride out some sort of pain. He kept trying to make out the words " _Master,"_ but was failing miserably at it. Vokara couldn't decide whether he was calling for her, or caught up in another nightmare about Kenobi.

Yes, she knew what he was dreaming about.

He was shouting for someone to stay with his injured Master, so loud that Skywalker's Captain had to walk away to free himself from the agony Skywalker's tone produced. As soon as the Captain's firm grip was released from Skywalker's sphincter, the accident started, and everything went tumbling down hill from there.

Vokara stopped thinking, pressing herself to go into her Healer instincts. _Check for pulse, breathing rhythm, life threatening injuries, abnormal-ness, responsiveness_. For some reason unknown to her, she was having a hard time separating herself from the situation. She was Master Healer Che, not Vokara. Not Skywalker's mother. Master Healer Che.

 _So act like it,_ she scolded herself.

"Skywalker, where does it hurt? You need to talk to me so I can fix the pain," Vokara said, trying to stop the boy's shuddering. His eyes leaked tears that dripped onto his bare knees. Folded nearly in half, Skywalker clung to his chest as if he was afraid his heart was about to jump out from behind his ribs.

"Mast-er Obi-Wan's h-hurt, Mast-t-ter's gonna leav-ve me here," Anakin stuttered, eyes making contact for the first time. Vokara held her breath. "'M so dizzy, c'n't breath g-good."

Every symptom led to one answer, but it wasn't an answer that Vokara wanted to diagnose.

Anakin was having a panic attack.

Vokara acted quickly, finally finding the smooth calmness she knew to be her Healer-self. Calling quickly for Skywalker's Captain, she started for the 'fresher door. Rex was at Skywalker's side in seconds, gripping onto his shoulders and speaking quiet comforts to him. Vokara quickly crossed the room to her carrying bag, stocked full of emergency supplies for situations that she could only guess could happen. So far, all of them have happened so Skywalker.

Finding the sedative she was looking for, Vokara gripped the syringe with a slight tremor wracking through her body. She did not like to drug Skywalker because she knew how much he hated it. Still, he didn't give her much of a choice. She couldn't leave him quaking on the toilet until the fit ended.

Vokara gathered her strength, then marched back into the 'fresher. Skywalker didn't look any better. The boy leaned heavily on Rex's grip, hair dangling in front of his face, obscuring the look of terror on his face.

 _Do it,_ Vokara commanded herself. _You are not Skywalker's chummy friend. You are his Healer._

She unlocked the lid off of the needle with a small _click,_ and flicked it twice.

 _It does not matter if he thinks you are an enemy._

Approaching from the side, she caught the defeated look of the boy's friend, both so young, weren't they? Barely out of training, eyes barely lost their wonder…

With a quick, practiced motion, Vokara inserted the needle into Skywalker's thigh.

Anakin's eyes followed the needle, up her arm, and to her face. His eyes were full of the shards of betrayal.

" _Why? My Master needs my help!"_ his eyes pleaded.

Vokara responded to that terrified gaze by giving more sedative.

 _Villain._

Her hand was a claw, holding the little boy still, slowly releasing the sedative into his bloodstream. The boy lashed out weakly, still pleading for her to save his beloved Master. His friend gripped him tightly, as if he was embracing him to say goodbye.

Vokara had to get out.

She could not torture this child any longer. Her will had given out, her strength diminished in a day's worth of watching her patient struggle on her instructions.

The syringe was empty, and her heart felt the same.

Without flourish, she turned and fled the 'fresher, turning only to tell Rex that the sedative should take effect in fifteen minutes. She did not bother to take her emergency bag.

 _You're the villain he thinks you are,_ her mind lashed out at her.

Villain, Healer: what was the difference any more?

* * *

Ahsoka held a droid head in her hands, plotting her revenge with careful brushstrokes of anger. Echo and Fives worked dutifully beside her, constructing and programming droid after droid. Rex didn't plan on having them used like this, did he?

Too bad he got to spend time with her Master, and didn't get his vote in.

She looked around at her miniature army gathered around her. Leo was sitting in his hoverchair, IV line beside him, scribbling obscene things on the chests of the droids to mark them as reprogrammed to anyone who had seen the front lines of battle. Master Che would never know that a graffiti-droid was as good as dead to the Separatists. At least, that was what they hoped.

They'd been working for what seemed like hours, securing bolts and twisting wires together until each droid had come to life before their eyes.

Carefully attaching the head she was holding, Ahsoka smiled as the droid's mechanical eyes blinked a hazy yellow at her. She gave it a gun, folded it into the charging position, and sat down.

The hangar was silent and abandoned except for the Commander and her army of mismatched soldiers. General Skywalker's ship was the only ship in the hangar, it's faded silver-and-yellow coating covered in a layer of dust. It was the perfect place to hatch an illegal plot of vengeance.

Fives passed the last droid over to Leo to graffiti, watching his brother carefully for signs of pain. He had fallen asleep so quickly and quietly that none of them noticed he was unconscious until it was too late, and they'd woken him up again with excited voices and loud footsteps. He was being a good sport about helping out, but Fives could tell he'd rather be in bed, sleeping off the pain.

"Do you think that Master Skywalker's ship works?" Ahsoka asked them offhandedly. Echo shrugged.

"Not sure, Commander. Captain Rex must have gotten it in the hangar somehow, but who knows if it works now. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if the Captain just scared the ship into flying," Echo joked. Ahsoka just nodded, eyes distant.

Suddenly, Ahsoka flinched. Then she put her hand to her heart.

"It's my Master," Ahsoka said, frightened eyes meeting each of her clone companions. "He's in pain but…it's not the same. He's scared."

Fives looked helplessly to Echo, hoping that he would have some sort of witty response. _Jedi_ , Fives thought decisively, _are fairly dramatic for being so unfeeling._

"I-I'm not sure how much we can do," Echo admitted. "We can't leave these droids here in the open. Anyone could see them."

Ahsoka started to bite her nails.

"We'll put them in Master's ship, folded like this—" Ahsoka suggested, motioning toward the finished droid next to her. "If I still feel this…what my Master feels, I'm going to find him. Master Che can't stop me."

"Of course, Commander," the clones said, nearly in unison.

They all jumped into action, folding the droids and placing them in the dusty ship. As spacious as it was (it did have to fit a wheelchair), it was a tight fit with the droids piled high. Not stopping to admire their handiwork, they abandoned the ship and returned to where Leo said, hovering, and nearly asleep again.

"Well," Fives prompted his Commander. "What do you feel?"

Ahsoka scrunched her brow, evidently confused on what was coming through her bond with her Master. "It's so strange. The pain is still there, but it's muted…and it almost feels like…like he's coming closer."

Echo shared a puzzled glance with his brothers.

 _I'm getting a job with General Koon's division,_ Fives thought. _I can't take any more of this._

"Get in that ship!"

Everyone turned sharply to see Captain Rex running haphazardly into the hangar, General Skywalker in front of him. In his hand was a big black bag. The Captain's tone spurred everyone into action, scrambling toward the ship they had just stuffed full of stolen droids. Even the formerly-drowsy Leo raced toward the ship.

They piled into the questionable ride, squishing together to let Rex push Anakin through. The urgency of the situation was in the forefront of everyone's mind, but no one dared voice the question.

"Ahsoka, plug in the coordinates to Naboo, Eastern Swamps. Anakin," Rex said, his tone dropping softer. "We're going to go save General Kenobi. It's going to be okay."

Anakin nodded once, tiredly placing his hand in Rex's and squeezing lightly. Rex let a small smile grace his features before he turned back to his clueless crew.

"We need this hunk of junk ready to fly, _now._ General Kenobi's injured, most likely alone, and undoubtedly surrounded by Separatists. We're gonna bring him home," Rex said, slamming his fist into his open palm for emphasis.

"What's…what's going on?" Fives asked quietly, wondering if he was dreaming. Echo nodded slowly, seconding Fives' confusion.

It was the General who spoke.

"I saw Obi-Wan on the battlefield, chest slashed open, but still wanting to fight. He s-sent his clones away before he collapsed. I…I d-didn't see anything else. All I know, is that Obi-Wan is not-t going to die without me there. Paralyzed or not, I'm not going to sit b-back while my friends bleed out on the front," Anakin said, stumbling over his words. The exhaustion in his voice rang like a warning bell.

"We're going to fight?" Ahsoka asked, trying to hide her eagerness to get back out onto the battlefield. She looked from person to person, trying to gather their odds. "But…you are all in your hospital clothes. And I'm the only one with a weapon."

"Not true!" Echo said, catching on to the excitement. "We armed the droids right before we stuck them in here! They've all got loaded guns!"

"Droids?" Rex questioned, looking around him to find the stack of battered metal to his left. "Why are my droids assembled? They were for Anakin to fix up!"

Ahsoka let out a sheepish laugh. Her so-called plan for revenge seemed so foolish now that she was with her Master.

"Never mind that," Ahsoka said quickly. "We've got to get to Naboo!" She jumped into the co-pilot's seat, buckling herself in, waiting for her Master to join her in the pilot's spot. "C'mon, Master…." She trailed off, recognizing her mistake.

Anakin looked at her, those weary eyes tearing her heart into ribbons.

"You be the pilot, Snips," he said, trying to form a smile. "You've always had a knack for the wheel."

She could have flown to Naboo _without_ the ship on those words from her Master. He had confidence in her. She wouldn't let him down.

Fives took the co-pilot seat, pressing what Ahsoka instructed him to do. Rex rigged Anakin's wheelchair to bolt to the ground, sitting close by in case he had to hold his General in his chair on takeoff or landing.

Without difficulty, the ship cruised out of the hangar, and into the open atmosphere.

"It's a miracle this ship even flies," Echo whispered, in awe at the ship as much as Ahsoka's piloting. He didn't realize she was old enough to fly.

"Let's hope for one more miracle, then," Rex said. "We've gotta hope that Master Che doesn't send an armada after us to bring Anakin back. She…doesn't exactly know we left."

Ahsoka covered her grin with her hand.

 _This was even better than the revenge she had planned._

"Two more," Anakin added, his voice hoarse. "Obi-Wan has to live."

The ship's crew went reverently silent.

"I'm so tired," Anakin whispered. Rex had to lean in to hear him. "You'll save him, won't you Rex? He can't die alone. Heroes don't die alone."

Before Rex could answer, the sedative stole Anakin away from reality and he willingly gave in to unconsciousness.

* * *

 **If you can find the time, I'd appreciate if you comment on whether or not you'd like more narration from Padmé. I'd work her in more often if you enjoy her point of view. As always, thank you for reading.**

 **-Gabe**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

For all of those who have made it this far: it keeps me going knowing that you're excited to read the next chapter after the next. May the fourth be with you all.

-Gabe

* * *

Obi-Wan danced in and out of consciousness so many times that time became a befuddling nuisance. The sun would be high, then low, then high again without Obi-Wan ever seeing a sunset or sunrise. It was as if he was stuck in the afternoon without ever getting afternoon tea.

The only thing more awful than that thought was the agony that felt entwined with his every fiber.

It blinded him, deafened him, crippled him to the point where he thought of just taking his lightsaber to his heart and ending it all. Then he thought of Anakin: his brother, his Padawan, his friend, and so much more. What would he do when he felt their bond disappear?

He would find something less forgiving than a lightsaber, that's what he would do.

So, with renewed courage, Obi-Wan took another breath, and another. And waited until the dark oblivion reached out for him once more. He waited. The blood loss was starting to make him dizzy. He waited some more, sending up a desperate prayer to the Force to let the darkness come.

The Force was not so kind.

Obi-Wan let out a quiet moan. _He never said goodbye._

He was so angry, so furious with his situation he failed to think that that moment might have been the last moment he saw Anakin.

In his haze of pain, Obi-Wan thought of what Anakin might be doing. Was he messing around with Ahsoka? Sleeping? In the middle of a treatment? Obi-Wan felt as if he had severed of a limb: the pain was so real, yet the source was so far away.

Obi-Wan's eyelids slid closed, defeat churning his thoughts to near senselessness. Still, his paralyzed friend stayed at the forefront of his mind.

" _Obi-Wan, you have to stay alive,"_ a voice scolded. Obi-Wan grimaced, panting slightly from the effort.

 _"I've tried,"_ Obi-Wan thought, hoping that would be enough to satisfy the voice. _"I've tried, but it is too late for me. I am sorry."_

And Obi-Wan's tightly fisted hands fell limp.

* * *

Vokara Che threw down the bottle of medicine, watching it shatter into a thousand sharp pieces of glass. The liquid inside let out a hiss as it hit the cold floor.

Did they think her a fool?

She was the Head Healer of the Jedi, as well as a Jedi herself. More than capable of drugging who she needed to, and restraining who she couldn't.

So why did she have such a hard time doing so with Skywalker?

Letting out a hair-raising, frustration-filled yell, Vokara stalked over the glass shards and to the small window of her personal laboratory. Fifteen Republic ships were called in on her command to go to Naboo. To bring Skywalker back.

Did they think she was a fool?

She was the most qualified person to treat the Chosen One. The most feared when it came to her tactics and stubbornness. By all intents and purposes, she was _the_ Jedi Healer. She could heal anything with her advanced knowledge of crystals and of detailed anatomy of an abundant amount of species and races.

 _Was_ she a fool?

Skywalker's injury had knocked her off her pedestal. She was helpless against the T-11 spinal injury he suffered from every day. The Archives, her personal files, the entire _galaxy_ seems to have been searched. Nothing. There was no way to help the boy. Yet, she refused to let him move back into his flat, infamous stubbornness showing through in every color. She would not fail her reputation—no, she could not fail Anakin.

"Master Healer Che—I know you're busy, but I just walked into Anakin's room and—"

Vokara swung around to face the offending interrupter.

It was the Senator—Padmé Amidala.

There was no use hiding the truth.

"He was not there?" Vokara finished, voice on the edge of monotone. The Senator twisted her skirt between her fingers.

"Yes, he wasn't there. Do you know—?"

"Of _course_ I know, Senator!" Vokara screeched, stomping over the glass shards once again to close the gap between Amidala and herself. "I am Jedi Master Healer Vokara Che, overseer of all the _wonderful_ things that Skywalker does. In fact, he is such a _joy_ that I decided to let him alone for a few minutes. In a matter of ten minutes, the little _blessing_ stole a ship, his Padawan, and his Captain, as well as three of my patients—and headed to Naboo. Which, I might remind you, is the most dangerous war zone in the galaxy at the present moment. Also, I might add, Skywalker cannot walk and has the same amount of tranquillizer in him that one would put in a rancor."

The Senator was silent.

Vokara huffed, smoothing out her gown and gathering her wits. She was losing it—and it was all thanks to Skywalker.

"Master Che, how can I help?"

Vokara looked up, and barked out a harsh laugh. The Senator had to have been kidding. Vokara had just allowed her paralyzed, tranquillized, depressed patient to roll into the galaxy's most dangerous place—the same person who seemed to have hots for the lady standing right in front of her. And the girl wants to help her. Not a chance.

"Senator, I am in no mood for jesting—"

"I'm not jesting!" the Senator exclaimed, her emotions betraying her desperation. "I want to help in whatever way I can. And if that means me jumping in one of the Republic ships and _dragging_ Anakin back here by his ear, then I'll do it. I'll do _anything._ "

Vokara pinched the bridge of her nose.

This wasn't what she thought it was at all.

After letting out a prolonged sigh, Vokara stated the obvious. "You love him, don't you Senator?"

The fidgeting worsened.

"I-I, yes. I love him very much," Amidala answered reluctantly. Vokara, despite her current mood, grinned.

"Love him enough to march right into the heat of the battle and _drag_ him back here by his ear?" The Senator gave a hesitant nod. "Well, Senator, I suggest you pick a change of clothes—pants, I would say—and be ready in the hangar by two. I do not tolerate tardiness."

Vokara turned once more to face the shards of glass on the ground. The liquid had stopped hissing. Adrenaline started pumping through her system, which was absurd because she was in no mood to venture out of her Halls.

Still, the _battlefield_. She hadn't been there in years.

Vokara sensed the Senator hurry out of the room, but she didn't follow. Instead, she crossed her lab and opened the door to her study. She unattached the chain that held a glimmering key from around her neck. The matching lock hung securely around her desk drawer. With shaking hands, she pressed the key into the lock and waited for the gentle "click" that she hadn't heard in years.

 _"Click."_

The lock gave way and the drawer slid open with ease, as if it was yearning to open for forever. Vokara needlessly held her breath. She knew what was inside of the chest, yet every fiber of her jumped in surprise.

Her lightsaber.

Covered in a thin layer of dust, the weapon lay ready for Vokara to use. She was no innocent healer—she had shed blood on the field without hesitation. Still, holding the weapon in her hand once more sent a shiver up her spine.

She was ready.

Naboo had better watch out: two of the most dangerous ladies in the galaxy were coming its way, ready or not.

* * *

"Let's go, let's go!" Rex shouted, shouldering two of the droid's guns. The clones tied their hospital outfits tighter and took guns as well. Ahsoka bounced from one foot to the other, anticipating the battle ahead. Rex couldn't relate: all he felt was dread.

What Anakin had told him…it was a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.

Still, it wouldn't keep him from trying.

Rex let out a slow breath, turning to Leo. He sat upright in his hoverchair, more attentive and awake than he had been all week. _Battle adrenaline would do that to you,_ Rex mused. Before Rex could change his mind, he placed his hand on Leo's shoulder and gave him a solid nod.

"I'm trusting you, brother," Rex said seriously. Both men glanced involuntarily at the unsuspecting, unconscious General. "Keep him safe."

"I will," Leo responded, his tone heavy with the oath he took. Forcefully peeling himself away from the two injured men, Rex moved toward the ship's exit. Echo pressed the key pad on Rex's command.

The ship opened slowly, revealing a blinding sun despite the clouds overhead. Rex squinted against it's harshness, determined to bring back General Kenobi if it was the last thing he did.

And by the looks of the raging battle, it might've ended up that way.

Droids fired haphazardly at clones in ranks, and a purple lightsaber swung mesmerizing circles through metal and plant alike. The swamp was a dangerous place to fight: sink holes and mist filled every corner. Rex missed his helmet the worst. He could use someone else's gun, he could wear something other than his under armor, he just didn't like the thought of charging into battle with his head exposed. He was honestly not sure how Jedi did it. He felt naked.

And maybe that was because he practically was.

The small hospital garbs him and his fellow clones were wearing barely reached their ankles and wrists. It was a thin, paper-like material that let every breeze in, and—

 _No,_ Rex scolded himself. _Push it all out of your mind. You'll have to make due. You owe it to the General. You owe it to Anakin._

With that inner pledge, Rex hefted his weapons and let out a fierce cry, charging out of the stronghold of the ship and into the chaos below.

Ahsoka followed suit, unlatching and unsheathing her lightsaber in one graceful movement. The moist air filled her lungs and soaked through her clothes, but did nothing to dampen her resolve. She was bringing Master Kenobi back. Alive.

She would not watch another one of her heroes fall before her eyes.

Droid heads turned, and she slashed them off without hesitation, falling into the muscle-memorized rhythm she had thought was long forgotten. She twisted and turned, dancing through the throngs of enemy lines with finesse. Clones started to take notice of her, giving hollers and hoots in her direction as she cut down droid after droid. When the troops spotted Rex, they gave an extra loud cry.

"It's the Captain!"

"That's Captain Rex!"

"He's wearing pajamas!"

The rumors spread like wildfire, igniting the troop's spirits and creating quite the audience for Rex. He just smiled away, glad to be surrounded by his brothers again—even if that meant being immersed in the heat of a battle.

It created such a ruckus, that Master Mace Windu himself had to see.

 _"What_ is going on here?!" Master Windu shouted over the noise. " _Captain Rex? Padawan Tano?_ Where did you come from?" Ahsoka stopped to slice up another droid before answering.

"We're here to save Master Kenobi!" she exclaimed, stabbing the clanker clean through. Master Windu let out a frustrated growl.

"Kenobi is fine! His men just checked in with me," Mace shouted. Ahsoka nearly dropped her lightsaber.

He was fine?

 _He was fine?!_

In the back of her mind, she knew that the doubt in her Master's dream was there. Visions have been wrong before—she knew that from experience. But still, she had never entertained the idea of getting to Naboo and finding Master Obi-Wan standing and reporting for duty. She had too much faith in her Master for that idea to even be entertained.

Yet here she was, being told that Master Kenobi was peachy.

Why didn't she believe it?

Without saying goodbye to Master Windu, Ahsoka took off across the swamp, searching for any signs of Obi-Wan. As far as she could see, there were droid remains, and some fallen clones, but no Jedi.

Then she felt it: the smallest prick of her senses.

Almost blindly, Ahsoka followed her intuition, recreating the confidence her Master had shown time and time again when he needed to trust his gut instincts. She just _knew_ something wasn't right about this picture. Master Windu had to be wrong.

Suddenly, out of the chaos of the battle, a calm bunker made from sandbags and crates appeared in her vision. Grabbing onto the small lead, Ahsoka sprinted toward the serene, safe place. Still far away, she made out the outline of a gray, armored boot.

 _Obi-Wan's boot._

* * *

Leo sat, every muscle tense, next to General Skywalker's prone form. The ship had landed far enough away from the battle to be safe, but it still didn't feel far away for Leo to be comfortable. Every shadow was a droid attacker, every creak was a hidden weapon pointed at the General's chest.

He had never felt so much responsibility on his shoulders in his life.

So much trust in him.

Leo looked again at the gun in his hand, then at the General's peaceful face. It had been months since he's held a weapon in his hand. It felt foreign, knowing that the last time he held one was when he was shot up and left for dead. He still had nightmares: his brothers surrounding him, telling him _he's gonna be alright, just hang in there until the medics come…_

He shivered, remember the first time he realized his hand was gone.

When his potential was gone.

Yet, here he was, protecting the arguably most important Jedi ever to grace the galaxy. What would his company say? He was the least fit to do so, but here he sat, gun in hand, twitching at the slightest sound and movement.

"Just you and me, General," Leo said out loud, as if he was testing if his voice still worked. The General, disappointingly, didn't respond. Leo cleared his throat, trying again. "I've been meaning to talk to you for a while, actually. 'Bout my hand…or, rather, what's left of it. I…I know it must have been hard for you too—to lose what gave you meaning. I was top of my class at aim—my hand couldn't miss a target. Then, brought low within a span of my second battle ever. Lost my gift, my dignity…my _hand_. I haven't hit a target since. You-you know better than anyone…and I just wanted to say that you're not alone. And thank the Force, _I'm_ not alone, 'cause if I was I'm not sure I would have made it through this recovery process."

Leo paused, biting his lip, hoping the General would wake up. After a moment, Leo placed his mechno on top of the General's. "And I'm here for you, if you need me."

Then suddenly, the peaceful silence was shattered by the abrupt sound of a ship landing close by. Leo tensed, loading his gun and pressing the safety off with a trembling hand.

What if he had to shoot?

 _What if he missed?_

Shakily standing up from his hoverchair, placing his body like a barrier in front of the General, Leo stood his ground. He would not miss.

The next thing he heard was voices.

Feminine voices.

"Senator, _please,_ just do as I say and don't get shot," the voice said exasperatedly. Footsteps echoed around Leo like ghosts. He raised his gun.

"I follow no one's orders when it comes to the wellbeing of my Jedi friends," another voice said, defiance tinting her tone bright. "I am not to be treated like some sort of fragile glass on the edge of a cliff. I am Padmé before anyone else—not Queen, not Senator—and Padmé can handle herself."

There was a frustrated groan.

Leo couldn't believe what he was hearing: Senator Amidala and Master Healer Che? Here?

"Fine, just check the ship like we talked about? There is no possible way they brought Skywalker into the battle. He's got half of my tranquilizer stock in him."

A shadow emerged in the doorway of the ship. Leo's finger sat heavy over the trigger. It couldn't be the Senator, not here, and not now. It'd be too close to a miracle.

"Ani?" the quiet voice of the Senator called out ahead of her. "Ani, it's me, Padmé."

Leo cleared his throat.

"Ma'am? If it's really you, I-I need you to show your face. Step into the light," Leo commanded, sounding less terrified than he was. He could follow orders—shoot whoever comes near enough to breath on the ship—or follow his gut, which told him to wait. It was his choice alone, and by the Force, he was scared to make it.

The shadow materialized slowly before his eyes, a shining object the first thing Leo saw. Barrel, handle, trigger—gun.

His instincts were wrong.

Leo narrowed his vision, eyes pinpointing the heart, arm level, hand steady—

"Wait!"

Leo stopped, despite his better judgment.

Padmé Amidala appeared before his eyes, not wearing one of her galaxy-famous outfits, but instead a simple fighting garb, not unlike the under clothes Leo would wear with his armor. Her head was held high, eyes connecting with Leo's. So much emotion rolled through those orbs, but the contact only lasted a second. The Senator turned quickly to the General.

"Oh, Ani," she cried, placing her hand over her delicate mouth. Leo stood blinking in shock at what had just happened. This was real. The Senator was here, and that must mean that Master Healer Che was here.

On one hand, that was a miracle they could have never expected.

On the other hand, it was the sealing of their doom.

Leo watched in awe as the Senator crouched next to the unconscious Jedi, acting as if she had known him for all of her life. Her fingers ghosted across his cheek, then his forehead. She pushed back the hair on his brow, then smiled contently. Leo cleared his throat again, sure that the Senator had forgotten he was there at all, still armed and everything.

 _Armed. Good one, Leo,_ he thought deliriously. The adrenaline was wearing off, now that the Senator was here. He wasn't alone. She was here to help protect the General. Or was she?

"Ma'am, if I may," Leo started. The beautiful woman swung her gaze back to him. Leo wasn't sure if he could talk with those eyes staring at him like that. "Wh-what are you doing here? Are you here to take the General away?"

The Senator smiled; Leo was sure that the room glowed brighter. "Eventually, soldier. But, I think the real question is what are _you_ doing here? Can you protect my Jedi?"

Leo frowned. What was she saying? Did she not trust him? Did she think he was one of the clones that didn't get the chip removed? A traitor? Or was it she didn't think he was worthy to be put in charge of such a task, what with his arm and all. Either way, Leo felt himself wanting to put it right with the woman: assure her that he could protect the General. Her Jedi.

"I may not be your average bodyguard, ma'am, but Captain Rex himself put me in charge of protecting the General. And I intend to do so with my life. I can't let you take him—not until I'm sure your on our side," Leo said confidently. The Senator nodded, smiling.

"Captain Rex picked the right man for the job," she said as she maneuvered the General's limp hand to entwine with hers. "I want to help. Master Che won't tell me why you are here, nor why you don't want to come back to Coruscant with us." She sighed. "I want answers, and no one trusts me enough to give them to me."

"I trust you, Senator," Leo interrupted. It made the woman laugh.

"And that means more to me than you know, soldier."

Leo bit his lip, contemplating what he was going to say next. One thing he was sure of—no matter how genuine the Senator was, he wasn't leaving the General's side. He owed that much to him.

"My name's Leo."

"Padmé."

Then a beat of silence.

"He's unconscious; Master Healer Che knocked him out cold. Still, before he fell asleep he told us of a vision he had—one about General Kenobi. He was badly hurt, and alone. No one seemed to know that he was hurt. If they did, they must not have cared. So, we started up a ship and flew here. Captain Rex, Commander Tano, and ARC troopers Echo and Fives are down in the heat of the battle, looking for General Kenobi. When they find him, they'll bring him back here."

Padmé's brow furrowed. "How would you have healer Master Kenobi? Are any of you licensed medics?"

Leo winced. They hadn't thought of that. "No, ma'am. None of us are medics."

"How would they have brought Master Kenobi here? What was the extent of his injury?"

Leo winced again. "Not sure, ma'am. I wasn't a part of the rescuing plan. I'm here to protect the General. And General Skywalker said that it was his chest. I can't be entirely sure how bad he is, but it must be pretty bad if we're needed here…"

Leo trailed off, hearing the gunfire closer this time. He signaled for the Senator to be silent, straining his ears for more information.

"Let me help you," Padmé whispered.

Hesitantly, Leo nodded, motioning for Padmé to stay by the General. He hoisted his gun back into his good hand, and slowly made his way to the door. Every sense was on high alert. He had two people to protect now.

At the entrance of the ship, Leo paused, placing his finger over the trigger. The sound of running people reached his vantage point, muddled by the sound of bullets flying and a lightsaber—that could be good news or bad news.

There was only one way to find out.

On trembling legs, Leo stepped into the foggy landscape with his gun raised and pointed toward the noise. He was prepared to fire.

At least, he was until he saw the source of the sounds he had heard.

* * *

Vokara grumbled all the way to the battlefield.

She crabbily cut down all the droids that stood in her way. The bullets that flew all around her were but a nuisance to her goal.

 _Unless Captain Rex was physically bullied into taking Skywalker here,_ Vokara fumed _. He will not see the end of the punishment I have planned._

Her senses pricked her conscience as she spotted a pile of what seemed to be extra supplies for the battle. Crates stacked four high, surrounded by bags of some sort, stood unharmed in the menacing battle.

 _A perfect place to hide an unconscious Skywalker,_ Vokara thought, changing her course to move toward the clutter.

Suddenly, she saw a pair of waving arms.

The Ahsoka girl—anxiously waving her arms and shouting. She must have recognized Vokara from this far away.

Something must be horribly wrong.

Vokara broke into a sprint, using her dusty lightsaber to cut down all in her path. She had almost no medical supplies with her, just what she could stuff in the pockets of her skirt. She wasn't prepared for a disaster.

Ahsoka had never been so relieved to see Master Che in her life.

Obi-Wan was pale, sweat covering his forehead and limbs askew. His tunic was ripped and covered in dirt, his hair and beard a mess (which alone could testify to how badly he was injured). And his chest…

Ahsoka sat unhelpfully beside him, chewing at her nails, trying hard to reach Obi-Wan through the Force. If she could just wake him up, just make sure he wasn't actually—

"Out of the way, Ahsoka," Master Che shouted, shoving the young girl out of reach of Obi-Wan. There was a momentary look of surprise on Master Che's face, as if she expected it to be someone else, but it disappeared quickly and she set right to work. "Check these crates, see if there's anything useful," Master Che ordered. Ahsoka shook herself out of her daze and obeyed.

She pried open crate after crate, finding nothing but rations and extra ammunition. Nothing that could be used to treat Obi-Wan's wound. Still, Master Che performed admirably, using whatever bandages and ointment she had in the folds of her skirt. When Master Che tied the bandage off, Obi-Wan stirred slightly.

Ahsoka held her breath.

 _"Mmmhg,"_ Obi-Wan mumbled, parched lips parting in hopes of more sound coming out.

"Kenobi," Master Che acknowledged. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Good't see'mas well, Vokara," Obi-Wan slurred. Master Che pressed against his chest, seeing the blood already well through the bandages. Obi-Wan seemed to take it as a comforting gesture, and his mouth twitched into a smile. "'M not dead."

"No, you are not, Kenobi. Although you are very close to being so. You are a very lucky man; circumstances like this could only have been guided by the Force," Vokara said, glancing up to see if they were still safely out of the battle.

Droids were advancing their way.

"Masters, we have to go. If we leave now, we might be able to outrun their fire," Ahsoka said quickly. "I'll tell Rex and the others, you get Master Kenobi ready to move."

Vokara started grumbling again.

Ahsoka spoke quickly into her comm unit, filling in her companions on their situation. After a few parting "Yes ma'am!"s, Ahsoka hung up. Vokara hand slung one of Kenobi's weak arms around her shoulders, and was slowly using the Force to safely lift him off the ground. Master Kenobi's face had gone quite green by the end of the ordeal.

Through the crowd of droids came three running figures. Rex gave a shout, and soon the ranks of droids started to thin. Firing as they ran, Echo, Fives, and Rex broke through the clankers. They would give away their position, but what other choice did they have? It would take more than just Master Che to lift Obi-Wan up and move him without injuring him further.

Rex was yelling at them.

 _"Start running! Run! Go!"_

And so, they ran, droids on their heels, Obi-Wan stifling pain-filled moans with every jostling.

The ship still seemed impossibly far away.

As soon as the outline of the entrance became clear, Ahsoka's energy was renewed. Two ships—theirs and Master Che's—landed safely away from the danger. Not only were the ships still there, but Leo stood in the entrance. His gun was pointed at them, but he lowered it quickly.

That meant her Master was safe.

They were going to get out of this mess after all!

"Ahsoka, _look out!"_

Rex tackled her to the ground just as the earth erupted, the sound of an explosion deafening everyone's ears. When the smoke and debris cleared, only one ship stood.

"Oh, _no,"_ Ahsoka said breathlessly.

Nothing was left of Master Che's ship but broken metal and ash.

"There must've been a bomb planted," Master Che said, eyes wide. "Thank the Force no one was on that ship."

Ahsoka pushed Rex off of her, running haphazardly to their ship. "We have to check if there's one here too!" she cried. The others followed, pace significantly slower. The droids were within firing range now, their bullets that were once fruitless now dangerously whizzed past the company.

Leo, who had been thrown by the explosion, slowly got up. His eye was swollen shut, and he held his mechno arm tight to his chest, but other than that he seemed alright. He was, at least, still conscious. Which was more than what they could say for Obi-Wan.

Boarding the small ship, Vokara set the now-bleeding-profusely Jedi on the ground, barely taking notice of the Senator and Skywalker, sitting hand in hand. She tore open his tunic, not sure what she planned to do. She had used up all of her emergency supplies, and everything she had brought with her extra had just been blown to smithereens. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a thick black bag. Her emergency carrying bag! But she had left it in Skywalker's room, how did it get here?

Before she could over think the small mercy, she grabbed the bag and unloaded its contents. She still had plenty of emergency supplies. As long as no one else got injured, she'd be able to treat Obi-Wan just fine.

"The Force, for once in my career," Vokara said, humorlessly laughing. "Is being kind. Kenobi, you better pull through now."

And as if the words were like a magic spell, Anakin's eyes flew open.

"Obi-Wan!" he cried out, as if waking from a horrible dream. As far as Vokara was concerned, he might have. All she could think about was Obi-Wan's chest.

"Shh, it's alright, Ani. Obi-Wan's going to be fine; we're all going to be fine," the Senator comforted. Anakin nodded, head already starting to droop. The others rushed into the entrance, declaring the ship explosion-free.

Vokara barely noticed them, operating solely on Kenobi. He was still bleeding, but after the anesthetic was administered and fresh gauze was put on the slash wound, he was looking much better. Hope fluttered in her chest for a brief second before she squashed it down. She was a Healer—hope was not something she let herself enjoy.

And yet she couldn't help but smile at the fact that they were all here, together, on the most dangerous planet in the galaxy, still conscious.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Anakin found it hard to remain conscious.

The sedative worked wonders, scaring away his nightmares and shielding him from the operation that was taking place at his feet. Within the cramped space of the ship, there was no room for privacy. Master Che did her job right in front of the ship's crew. Those with weak stomachs could sit in front, and cover their ears.

Blood was everywhere.

Ahsoka tried her best, working in tandem with Master Che. Anakin snorted at one point, thinking how ridiculous it was. His stubborn Padawan taking orders from the even more stubborn Master Che—unbelievable.

Master Che had wrapped Obi-Wan up nicely with gauze and bandages, but within ten minutes he had bled through them. That's when the emergency blood transfusion took place, and stitches began. She worked on the internal bleeding, while Ahsoka quickly cleaned up the outer bleeding. Still, the whole ship started to smell metallic. It made Anakin's stomach do backflips.

It was when Obi-Wan woke up that his stomach gave up the fight.

The smell dramatically changed.

Padmé was there, beside him, holding a basin in front of him as he whined and puked out everything in him. Obi-Wan moaned along with him, making him feel even worse.

And if Obi-Wan and Anakin wasn't enough, Leo had a severely damaged his mechno port. The skin around where the metal joined flesh was bloody and raw. There was a significant gap between the beginning of the mecho and the end of his arm.

Rex sat next to the trooper, trying to steady the shaking soldier. He tried asking for a sedative from Master Che, but all she answered with was "Ask Skywalker." Rex took one look at the General emptying his stomach into a basin and thought better of it.

So, Rex gripped onto Leo like he was all mattered. It was Rex that got the poor kid into this mess, and _Force_ he felt bad about it. He was barely an adult, and here he was—arm gone, brothers left behind, dealing with the pain because he knew others needed treating first. That was courage, if Rex had ever seen it.

"Captain," Leo whispered, voice hoarse. "How far off?"

"About ten," Rex answered. "You need anything?"

Leo shivered. "A new arm?" he tried to joke. The humor was lost on the Captain. "Is there…anything warmer? I'm a little cold in the hospital gown." Rex looked around the ship. They had brought almost no supplies; it was pure luck that they had brought weapons alone! There wasn't an extra scrap of clothing anywhere.

"Sorry, soldier. I could…?" Rex suggested, sidling up closer to the shivering clone without waiting for an answer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders tightly. Leo didn't say anything, just leaned heavily on the Captain and kept hissing out choppy, pain-filled breaths. "We are a sorry lot, aren't we?" Rex said, looking around the ship's interior.

"Yes, sir," Leo agreed.

"Call me Rex."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

It felt like the longest ship ride Ahsoka had ever been on. Every second dragged on, matching the tempo of Obi-Wan's labored breathing. Master Che worked fast, but she was losing the battle. Ahsoka could feel Obi-Wan slipping away.

So she worked harder.

When the ship docked, she barely noticed, working right up until the med corp pulled her off of the prone Jedi, kicking and screaming. She wouldn't leave him, not when he was in danger, not if she could help. _Not him too,_ Ahsoka thought, _You can't take Obi-Wan._

She screamed and cried as Echo and Fives grabbed on to her to hold her back. Master Che hesitated at the door of the ship. Both women watched as Obi-Wan was taken on a stretcher into the Halls of Healing, emergency lights blaring. Then, Master Che turned around, looking at Ahsoka. Both were covered in blood and tired, yet both understood they wouldn't be getting sleep any time soon.

"Stay with Skywalker," Master Che told Ahsoka. "He needs you."

Before Ahsoka could comprehend what the Healer had told her, Master Che had turned around and fled the ship, crossing the hangar in seconds.

 _Stay with Skywalker._

She could stay with her Master _with permission._

Echo and Fives let go of her arms and she dropped to the ground. "Sorry, Commander," Echo said sheepishly. Ahsoka waved it off, turning slowly around to see Padmé and Anakin sitting together. Anakin had fallen asleep again, the sedative still doing its work. Padmé was nodding off next to him, eyes tired of staying open. Ahsoka closed her eyes as well, channeling the Force to guide her mind.

" _Master, Master it's Ahsoka. It's time to go."_

She then watched as his face carefully, waiting for a sign to show that he was awake, that he could hear her. When he didn't stir, she sat down shakily, the situation slowly dawning on her.

They saved Master Kenobi in time.

Master Skywalker was okay.

And Padmé…Padmé loved Master Skywalker.

She didn't know how she hadn't seen it earlier, how _stupid_ she was to think it was all in her head. They were in love, and Ahsoka had been oblivious. She could see it in the way they looked at each other, the way Padmé smiled, the way Master laughed with his head thrown back like no one was watching. How their hands interlaced like they were made to fit together perfectly that way.

"'Soka?" her Master slurred, head lolling forward. Ahsoka was startled out of her thoughts. She crossed the floor to her Master's side: where she had always been but didn't feel like she belonged anymore.

"Master," Ahsoka said quietly. "Let's get you two back to your room, so you can sleep off the last of the drugs." Anakin smiled a lazy smile.

"Don' wan' move, Snips," he said before his smile dropped. "Iss' not real, is it? I'm not really here. Padmé isn' here, you're not here. Obi-Wan was here…ss'not real. Too perfect."

Ahsoka bit her lip.

"Let's get you into bed," she rephrased, hoping that he would stop talking before she became too emotional to say anything back at all. She shook Padmé awake and turned away quickly. "I'll let you two sort things out."

Because Master Che was wrong.

Anakin didn't need her.

He wanted Padmé.

* * *

Obi-Wan woke to the sound of Anakin falling.

 _"Master!"_ was the words that tumbled out of the young man's mouth as he tipped forward, falling with a _thud_ to the ground. Obi-Wan was awake in seconds, hand shooting forward only to be met with glass. Bubbles raced around him as he watched his former Padawan fall to the ground. _Helpless._

Stuck in a bacta tank.

Obi-Wan kept both of his palms pressed to the glass, his eyes wide with fear, until he saw Anakin slowly push himself up from the ground. His arm muscles bulged from the effort. Then, grabbing the handle that was installed on the side of the bed, Anakin hoisted himself up. Obi-Wan let out a breath, the bubbles cascading around him once again.

The blue liquid did nothing to distort the joy he saw on Anakin's face when he saw that Obi-Wan was awake.

In his haste, Anakin lurched off of his hold on the bed and tumbled back to the floor. This time, Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. His Padawan had always been forgetful, but never to the point that he forgot he couldn't walk.

 _Or could he?_

Obi-Wan had no perception of the time he had been unconscious. Anakin could very well have gotten better.

When he saw the scrape on Anakin's cheek from the fall, and him struggling to get back up, Obi-Wan changed his mind.

Using his arms to pull himself over, Anakin made his way slowly to the bacta tank. That mischievous grin that Obi-Wan had always loved to see returned to his former Padawan's face. Gripping with white knuckles to the control panel of the bacta tank, Anakin lifted himself up to a somewhat-standing position.

His arms shook with exhaustion.

But he was standing.

Obi-Wan pressed his hands on the glass, framing Anakin's face that was a glorious mess of happiness and pride. He watched as those lips mouthed the words.

 _"Welcome back Master! I can stand!"_

* * *

Padmé sat alongside of Vokara Che, sorting through another file of medical records of some faraway planet. After two hundred some records, Padmé had encountered exactly nothing on paraplegia. Nothing even close. She was starting to become depressed.

"There's nothing here," she said, exasperation filling her voice. "Give me the next file." Vokara shook her head.

"There are still twenty some records left in your file. Finish those and I'll give you the next ones."

Padmé closed her eyes, trying to gather her composer.

She paged through the rest of the files. Nothing—just as she suspected.

As she tossed the file back to Master Che, Padmé pinched the bridge of her nose. She thought that when she volunteered to help Master Che sort through the medical records she would be doing some sort of good—something to help Anakin get better. Yet, all she's seen is the correct number of stitches one should give to a bullet wound and when to sling someone's arm. There was nothing on paraplegia.

Yet Vokara kept looking.

Padmé didn't realize how tenacious the woman was, nor how stubborn.

"Should be break for lunch?" Padmé suggested. Vokara harrumphed.

"Break if you'd like. I've got a patient at one, and I plan on searching until then."

Padmé stared for longer than she planned to. Then, she slowly got up from her chair in Master Che's office and walked out the door.

Who would have thought that the crabby Master Healer would search for so long, so hard, for Anakin? She felt so grateful, so wrong to have doubted that she wanted to help Anakin. She had heard the stories first hand—of how Vokara treated her patients and the things she put them through. Yet here was the same woman, searching with all of her heart, to help her husband walk again.

She felt so sorry for everything she's thought.

It had been weeks since her ship blew up, though it felt like it was yesterday. She still saw Obi-Wan's prone, bleeding form in her dreams. She still remembered the look of betrayal in Ahsoka's eyes when she came out to her that Anakin was married to her.

She hadn't seen Ahsoka since.

Rumor had it that she and Captain Rex left the Halls, despite Rex's condition, and were back on the front. Others have said that they saw them hiding out at a dive bar downtown. She didn't know who to believe. All Padmé knew was she should have gone after her.

Why didn't she go after Ahsoka?

But it was too late now.

And it was only a matter of time before the secret was out.

* * *

Leo sat alone in his recovery room.

There was only one bed left in the room—the one he was laying in. The other cots had been moved out. His brothers had gotten better and moved out back to the battlefield, while he was still in bed, suffering from a "minor setback" in his recovery.

He grit his teeth, fisting his good hand and slamming it against the railing on his bed. _He_ was supposed to be fighting out there. _He_ was supposed to be the empty bed. Rex ran away with Commander Tano, Echo and Fives were deemed recovered.

General Kenobi was stuck in a bacta tank.

General Skywalker wouldn't talk to him.

Master Healer Che didn't come and visit anymore.

He was completely and utterly alone.

It was too much to think about, too heavy on his heart to think that all of his brothers deserted him. Did they even remember his name anymore? Or was he just _that clone_ who lost his hand in battle. A myth.

Leo closed his eyes, head sinking into the pillow. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat did nothing to soothe him. He was replaceable, expendable. He would probably be on the cleaning crew for the rest of his life because of this "minor setback" in his recovery.

His hand was useless again.

The wires were fried. Another surgery to replace them would risk his life.

And he had thought about taking the risk, but something in him kept him from saying yes. Maybe it was that he wasn't ready to give up yet. Maybe it was because he felt like he was a part of something.

Leo stood at the edge of a chasm and looked down, but didn't like the view. So be backed away. Sat down. Refused to jump.

Yet he could see the chasm still, in the back of his consciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Obi-Wan forced himself to stay conscious, no matter how tired his body claimed it was. Anakin held onto the panel tightly, knuckles turning a pinkish white. Obi-Wan watched, unable to do much other than watch, with pride swelling in his chest. Anakin continued to shout at the glass, Obi-Wan barely hearing a hint of what the young man ways trying to say.

 _"I've got to talk to you!"_

Obi-Wan understood that one. He had a lot to say to Anakin as well.

 _"Ahsoka is gone. Rex is with her. Padmé—"_

Obi-Wan watched with wide eyes as Anakin's arms buckled under his weight. The Jedi's chin connected with the panel with a _crack_ so hard it shook the bacta tank itself. Anakin collapsed onto the floor, head lolling backwards, limbs sprawled.

Obi-Wan screamed.

Bubbles were everywhere, escaping to where Obi-Wan couldn't go. He pounded on the glass, his eyes never leaving Anakin's body. _He had to get out—he had to get to Anakin—_

Just as Obi-Wan had wrapped his fingers around the straps that kept him suspended in the cursed liquid, he saw a form enter the room.

 _The Senator!_

Obi-Wan watched helplessly as the young lady bent down, shouting for help like Obi-Wan couldn't do. Med corp flooded the room, some checking on Anakin, others swarming the bacta tank. The flurry of beings blocked Obi-Wan's view of the unconscious young man. Despite his thrashing, the med corp only pressed in closer, murmuring to each other no doubt about what to do with him.

He couldn't be drugged.

Not now.

Suddenly, the med corp separated. Obi-Wan whipped his head to the side, just in time to see the grand entrance of a furious Master Healer Che.

Vokara was _not_ happy.

She could not _even pretend_ to be pleased that Obi-Wan was awake, or that Skywalker had _obviously_ ventured away from that blasted wheelchair. No, she could only fume of the fact that Skywalker was taking up her time _once again_ that was meant for another patient.

When she saw him lying on the floor, blood pouring down his neck from his chin, she couldn't say she was any happier. Even if Skywalker got what he deserved.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, hoisting her black emergency carrying bag higher on her shoulder before settling next to the half-conscious Jedi Knight. The Senator's eyes were wide, jumping from Vokara to Skywalker and back again. She barely held back another sigh. She was not paid enough to do this job day in and day out.

"Out of my way, Senator," Vokara mumbled, eyes scanning Skywalker's form, taking in the details. _The scene must have played out multiple times,_ Vokara mused. _Seeing as how many bruises he has forming that are too old for today's mishap._

She unpacked her bag, taking out a needle and thread as well as some antiseptic and a cloth. Then with careful hands, she started to clean the gash on Skywalker's chin. The cloth scratched against the day-old stubble on Skywalker's face, making Vokara roll her eyes.

 _Skywalker the adult,_ Vokara thought, snorting out loud. _Who would have thought he'd be twice the trouble now than when he was a kid?_

After cleaning the wound as best as she could, Vokara noticed the young man stir. His lashes fluttered twice before she saw the whites of his eyes. Then, as usual, chaos broke loose.

Skywalker lashed out—objects flew everywhere, med corp assistants ducked for cover, and her supplies were scattered. The Senator squealed as her needle nearly stabbed through her gown. Vokara squeezed the bridge of her nose, certain that her day wouldn't have included another conundrum.

"M-Master?" Skywalker gasped.

"Skywalker, you truly are a menace to society," Vokara deadpanned. She heard the young man squeak as his mind cleared and everything came into focus. The destruction around the room was evidence enough, but the med corp assistant's faces were what made Vokara outright laugh.

"I am so sorry," Skywalker started, eyes just as wide as the others in the room. He pressed his hands to the floor, as if he was going to try and get up and help clean up the mess. Vokara pressed him firmly back down to the ground.

She couldn't stop laughing.

"In one million different ways, Skywalker, I wish you were someone else's problem," Vokara said, wiping a tear from her eye. "And then there are days as ridiculous as this when I think thank the Force this boy is mine to patch up."

She smiled down at Anakin, and the little boy smiled back, eyes still bright, hair still messy. The stubble on his chin did nothing to hinder Vokara's mind to drift back to the past.

 _Vokara sat in her study, lights dimmed as she attempted to sleep between her shifts. She had taken a habit of sleeping sitting up, never knowing when she would be on call next. Her head bobbed slightly and her eyes drifted shut—_

 _"Master," a voice whispered. "Master Che are you asleep?"_

 _Skywalker._

 _Vokara grumpily acknowledged his presence with a grunt. "Skywalker, this better be important. How did you even get in here?"_

 _"I-I picked the lock," Skywalker responded sheepishly. Vokara finally opened her eyes, only to be met with Skywalker's big blue eyes. They were watering slightly._

 _"What happened that could be so blasted important for you to pick the lock of a Master's study?" Vokara snapped, refusing to move from her comfortable position before the little boy gave her a reason to. Instead of responding, he simply chewed his lower lip. "Speak, Skywalker."_

 _"I cut my knee."_

 _Vokara rolled her eyes before letting them drift down to the little boy's lower half. His right knee was crudely wrapped in a spare tunic that was most likely tan at one point. Right then, it was the color of rust and crimson._

 _Swearing loudly, Vokara had jumped into action, her hands flying to her medical supplies to gather what she needed. How was the boy even standing? Sutures, needle, thread, antiseptic, cloth: Vokara went through the list in her mind before turning back to the young Padawan. Tears had started to well up in his eyes._

 _"I-I'm sorry Master Che. I really didn't want to wake you up, but—"_

 _"Nonsense. You have every right to wake me up if you're bleeding this badly. Especially if you're bleeding this badly," Vokara quipped. Skywalker wiped his tears away with the back of his hand as Vokara guided him to sit in her chair._

 _"You'll always be here, right Master Che? Every time I fall?" Skywalker asked, his voice strained as she pressed the cloth to the large gash on his knee._

 _"Every time, Skywalker," she answered easily._

Reality rushed back to Vokara like a cold wash of water. Skywalker was whimpering under her harsh grip on his chin as she applied pressure to the wound. Realizing her mistake, Vokara lightened up her hold, but just barely. She couldn't afford to give Skywalker _another_ blood transfusion. She was running out of people who would donate.

Then with steady hands, Vokara plucked her needle from the Senator's dress, threaded it, and got to work.

Just like she promised she always would.

* * *

Ahsoka slammed her glass down with too much force.

Rex looked at her, bleary eyes wary of her mood. He was looking worse every day, while Ahsoka only fueled her fury.

She gave up on Anakin if Anakin had given up on her.

Of course, Rex and her watched the news every night, seeing their faces flash on the screen before disappearing. A few words would be garbled out in a couple of different languages, and then it would be over. No one was busting their butts to find their location. Only gossip channels gave hints that her Master had any remorse that she was gone. Thinking about it only made her angrier.

Her Master had lied to her face.

 _For two years_.

Fisting her hands, she punched the counter of the dive they were sitting in, letting the sting reverberate up her arm. _It wasn't fair!_ She had always been there for him. Always. And _this_ is how he treats her?

Ahsoka sneered to no one in particular, caught up in her thoughts.

"Ahsoka, maybe we should find a place to turn in for the night?" Rex suggested carefully, reaching out across the booth. He was the picture of calm. How could he be so calm? Anakin had betrayed him, too. "What about that?"

Ahsoka huffed. "Fine. But I wasn't done with my drink."

Rex looked from the cracked glass that was slowly leaking out the potent liquid on to the table, and then back to Ahsoka. "I think the drink is done with you."

Arm in arm, the two runaways walked out of the dive. Ahsoka wobbled on her feet, the effects of the drink dawning on her. Rex walked with a limp, courtesy of his brothers.

They had said he would regret running away with Ahsoka.

He had yelled at them something along the lines of the promise Anakin had made him take. He _had_ to protect her. He couldn't let Ahsoka go with all of this anger pent up inside of her to guide her feet. She needed a level head.

That didn't mean he didn't regret his decision.

Rex was exhausted at the time, even more so now, and Echo and Fives had ganged up on him. In a flurry of fists and curses, the clones settled their dispute. Rex had dislocated his knee, but Echo and Fives were laid out flat—unconscious.

Rex had apologized to them one thousand times in his head, trying to think of what he would say to those men when he returned. _If_ he returned. He had no idea if he would be treated as a deserter, or something worse.

He was a Captain, after all.

As the two misfits wandered the dark, musty streets to find an inn for the night, Rex couldn't help but flinch. He hadn't just left his men. He had left Anakin.

Who was his therapy partner now?

Who helped with his bowel program?

Was he getting better or worse without his Captain there?

Ahsoka yanked his arm and Rex had no choice but to turn his thoughts back to the present. Everyone around him looked like a potential threat. Anyone could be a spy, a Separatist, a bounty hunter. His tired eyes constantly shifted back and forth across the landscape ahead. It was all he could do to keep himself from picking Ahsoka up and dragging her back to the Jedi Temple.

"Here," Ahsoka suggested, dragging Rex into a dimly lit inn with strange animals dangling dangerously from the roof corners. There was a flickering holo-projection in the doorway, claiming the place was 'vacant' in bold, pixel letters. Rex hesitated, already having a bad vibe about the place. Ahsoka stared him down. "C'mon Rex. It's _fine_. We need a place to sleep and this is closest to the dive."

Rex bit his lip. _She means the bar._

He followed her in, like the coward he was.

The inside of the inn was less comforting than the outside. The front desk was a dark stained wood with a green being behind it. The being trembled, as if it was catching a cold, under Rex's gaze. Ahsoka stormed up to the being, asked it for one room with two beds and a 'fresher, if possible. They had become less picky when it came to sleeping arrangements over the last week or so on the run. But, it was always better when they could wash themselves before having to sleep in the same vicinity.

They collected keys to a room with one bed. Ahsoka trudged up the stairs without looking behind her. Rex rubbed his hand over his face. Stairs had been hard for him all week. Ahsoka didn't seem to notice that.

So, bracing both hands on his bad leg, Rex heaved himself up the stairs at a painfully slow rate. He was only on the seventh step when he heard Ahsoka slam the door shut. Letting out a sigh, Rex climbed the rest of the way, still full of that feeling of dread he had since they had seen the place. When Rex got to the top steps, he could have fainted. The world spun around him for a few maddening seconds before Rex gathered the energy to make it the rest of the way to their room.

Knocking quietly on the door, Rex waited for Ahsoka to answer and let him in. It wouldn't surprise him if she had already collapsed into whatever bed awaited him, drunk and tired and angry at the galaxy.

But the door cracked open.

Rex limped inside, eyes nearly closed. _The bed will feel so good,_ Rex thought. The first happy thought he'd had in a while. He shut the door carefully behind him. _No use waking up the neighbors._

"Ahsoka?" Rex called out into the darkened room. He didn't think she would turn all the lights off so soon. "Ahsoka?" Rex tried again.

No response.

Rex stumbled across the room, hands caressing the walls to find a switch to turn on the electric lights. If only he had his trusty helmet, then he would be able to find Ahsoka and the light switch without even needing to take extra painful steps.

And _why_ wasn't Ahsoka responding?

Finally, Rex's hands found the light switch.

Just as his fingers flicked the tiny button, another click echoed through the room. The lock on the door.

The room was flooded with an eerie blue light.

Rex's eyes adjusted to see Ahsoka, gagged and tied up to the bed, Count Dooku standing silently beside her limp form. Rex yelled, sure that his mind must be playing tricks but not willing to risk Ahsoka's life for it. He whipped his guns out of his belt and fired five shots at Dooku's smug face. Of course, no bullets hit their mark. The swishing, blood red lightsaber sent all of the bullets bouncing back at Rex. He dodged many of them, one grazing his thigh, another crashing into the only light source. The room was plunged into darkness once again; the only thing marring the pure black was the lightsaber's glow.

"So good of you to join us, Captain," Dooku taunted. Rex didn't dare fire another shot—he couldn't guarantee Ahsoka's location. "You look exhausted."

"What are you doing here?" Rex screamed, his voice sounding scared and weak. _He didn't have his helmet, his men, his General._ He was outfought before he had even begun the battle. He just hoped someone could hear him yelling. "What did you do to Ahsoka?"

"Ah, so you are tired. Very well. I'm sure Skywalker's Padawan will make room for you," the Count sneered. Rex turned around in a circle, guns pointed outward, trying to hear Dooku's movement. Then he would fire.

Nothing.

Not a sound.

Then Rex felt his throat constrict, and his air cut short. He reached up toward the invisible hand around his throat. The darkness was tinged pink for a few seconds. Rex sent up a desperate prayer to the Force to let Anakin know that they were trapped—

And then Rex fell unconscious.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Anakin lay in bed, wishing for unconsciousness to come.

For the last three hours, he had felt this overwhelming sense of dread to the point where he kept rushing out of bed and into his wheelchair to check if Obi-Wan was all right, or to the transmitter to call Padmé and hear her comforting voice. He would think of different circumstances, like if only he hadn't moved out of Obi-Wan's recovery room, or if only Padmé could stay over night. He was a child again, yearning for his mother to stay at his bedside and tell him that the monsters weren't real, that he should go back to bed. He didn't understand what could be so wrong, what could make him feel so unhinged.

Well, he did. But he didn't want to believe that was what was wrong.

 _Ahsoka and Rex_.

Ahsoka had crushed his heart by leaving. He had cried—loud, uncontrollable tears—for two days. His chest had heaved and his abdomen had ached so badly that it made it so he couldn't get out of bed. Master Che had finally threatened to drug him before he stopped.

 _It was his fault._ He knew it was. He couldn't blame Padmé or the circumstances. It was on him for not trusting her with their secret, and his heart yearned for the past so he could go back and change all he had done wrong. _Foolish,_ Anakin scolded himself for the hundredth time. _You had everyone you love around you and still you're pining after the impossible._

Padmé never met his eyes.

She would talk, try to comfort him, but her gaze would never meet Anakin's. It made him feel worse, and yet strangely better. He deserved the treatment for treating Ahsoka like he did.

And Rex. Where should he start? He had lost his best friend, his Captain. The only person who would follow him into the fires and have his back the whole time. Anakin hadn't been able to go to therapy without thinking of all that he did wrong. Rex was always there for him, and now he wasn't. And Anakin was to blame for that as well. He had made Rex promise to keep Ahsoka safe the moment he thought she was about to run away. He hadn't even given Rex a choice whether or not to run away with Ahsoka. And now he was sorry, so _so_ sorry.

And his stitches wouldn't stop _itching_.

Even then, Anakin reached up a restless hand and scratched at his chin, stubby fingernails catching on his two-day stubble and the stitches themselves. Master Che had warned him about tugging at them, but it _burned_ underneath Anakin's touch _, asking_ him to scratch at the blue thread.

Master Che had been furious that he was trying to walk without any supervision. Anakin didn't understand why she was mad— _wasn't the goal for him to walk alone?_ Why not practice every moment he could? He couldn't bear to go back into that room—full of that awful salt water and _oh, Force, the sand_ that got everywhere he couldn't reach. He couldn't go back. Especially with Rex gone.

Med corp members swarmed him at all times of the day, back to doing everything for him, his freedom slipping from his fingers once again. After his stitches and the slight concussion, things got worse still.

Without warning, the dread washed over him once again. It chilled Anakin to the bone, making him shiver despite the blankets draped over his body. He couldn't just wait here any longer. He needed to find Rex and Ahsoka. Now.

But who could he trust?

Anakin knew he couldn't go alone. Sure, he could _try_ , but it would set him up for failure before he ever started. He needed someone who would be loyal, but wouldn't hold him back. Mentally, Anakin went through his choices.

 _Padmé? No._

 _Master Che? Absolutely not._

 _Obi-Wan? Still recovering._

 _Fives and Echo? On the field._

 _Leo?_

Throwing the sheets off of his legs in one solid motion, Anakin was sitting up and already pulling his wheelchair toward him. Recklessly throwing himself into the mechanism, Anakin sped out of the room.

He had let them leave once—let them face the dangers of the galaxy alone.

He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

* * *

Obi-Wan sat restless as Master Che listened to his heartbeat with her stethoscope. _What could she hear? How fast his heart was beating because of his nerves? How jumpy his heart felt because of his embarrassment? How much he yearned to be with Anakin?_

He had heard Anakin wheeling into his room last night. He had seen the shadows cast against the sterile walls of his room. Obi-Wan had no idea why Anakin had kept visiting him, but he knew it was important.

But _Force,_ did he want to know what it was.

And he was stuck, breathing in and out deeply so that Vokara could be positive that his chest didn't have one too many holes in it that he couldn't leave the respiratory machine. Which, to date, was Obi-Wan's least favorite contraption in the Halls of Healing. Even bacta was better. At least in bacta he couldn't tell when people were pitying him.

So many well-wishers, fake sad smiles plastered on their faces, going through the motions so that they could stay on Obi-Wan's "good side," whatever that was. He was sick of it. Sick of the exotic pile of flowers gathering by his bedside. Sick of the med corp members asking him to breathe in, breathe out, _nice and slow, Jedi Master Kenobi,_ as if that was his only job and his title meant nothing after it.

Most of all, he was sick of how unfair it all was.

 _Where were the flowers and well-wishers when Anakin lost his ability to walk?_

Obi-Wan was an important Jedi, but Anakin was a symbol of hope for the Jedi, not to mention that he held the fate of the galaxy in his hands. He should have had the planet at his doorstep, telling him all of those cliché things that beings say when someone is injured.

But there was no one.

It made him fume.

"Kenobi, if I have to tell you one more time to breathe in, I am not responsible for where I stick this stethoscope," Vokara growled, startling Obi-Wan from his internal ranting. Fighting back a vivacious color of red blooming on his cheeks, Obi-Wan sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, just like the good Jedi he was.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, Vokara set the stethoscope aside and scratched a few notes down on a pad before meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

"Looks like you pulled another miraculous recovery off, Kenobi," Vokara huffed, shuffling through her files one more time. "I want you to remain no weight-bearing for two weeks. I'll reevaluate your condition then."

Obi-Wan dipped his head in a solemn understanding. Vokara only raised an eyebrow before continuing.

"Don't do anything rash."

Obi-Wan nodded again.

"Do not do anything Skywalker tells you to do."

Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smirk. "My dearest Vokara, have you no faith him my judgment? Anakin cannot coerce me into any of his crazy antics without my consent."

Vokara only harrumphed in response.

Obi-Wan went back to being serious.

"I am already late for my next patient, so I assume you will take your antibiotics without my mothering over you?" Vokara asked, already packing up her bag as she spoke. Obi-Wan agreed, fingering the pills on his bed stand. They slid around until they bumped against the wilting exotic flowers Master Kit Fisto had sent.

By the time Obi-Wan had looked up, Vokara had left the room.

He decided to stare at the capsules a little while longer before he swallowed them.

* * *

Leo had just had the last round of pain medication punched through his IV port when he heard a wheelchair—not a hoverchair, a _wheelchair_ —race through the hall. He slouched a little lower in his bed, refusing to let hope bubble up from where he had hid it so well for so long. Almost two weeks had passed since the Commander and the Captain went missing. He hadn't dared to hope since then.

Yet the break-neck pace of the wheelchair was getting louder, closer.

Leo shut his eyes, held his breath.

The noise ended in a screeching halt in front of his door.

A loud _beep_ followed by the thick metal doors sliding open echoed through Leo's mind twice as many times as it happened. Four times as many before Leo believed it was _actually_ happening.

He opened his eyes to see General Skywalker, sweaty and breathing hard, a med corp's tag in between two of his fingers. A sly look graced the young man's features. "Stole it," the General said, as if that would explain all of the things Leo was thinking. "Hope it's okay I barged in."

"How did you—?" Leo sputtered. He had so many questions to ask, but none of them could take shape on his tongue. He sat there, speechless as the General wheeled himself closer, letting the doors glide shut behind him.

But Anakin's grin slowly morphed into a grimace as he came to a halt. He rubbed his shoulder gingerly, rolling it back and forth before looking back at Leo. "Don't happen to have any T3s, do you?" the General asked, nodding his head in the direction of Leo's medication bottles. Still not able to find his tongue, Leo mutely fumbled through the containers before finding the narcotic the General had asked for. He hesitated, biting his lip.

The General met his gaze. "I swear I'm prescribed to use it. I just am too stubborn to know when to give in and take the pill." Leo waited for another second before handing the bottle over to the galaxy's _Chosen One_ who was sitting in the _same room as him._

The General popped the cap of the narcotic with his mechno, carefully chose one, and threw it back in his throat to swallow it dry. Anakin shivered slightly before moving closer to Leo to hand the bottle back.

"I hate codeine," the General mumbled, already feeling the numbing effect. "Makes my senses swim."

Leo couldn't say he could relate. He welcomed the numb feeling when it came. So often, it never did.

He rubbed a hand over his face before trying to figure out the General's motives for visiting him. There was always a catch when it came from visits from high-ranking leaders. Always. "What're you doing here, General Skywalker? Didn't just come for my pain medication." _Not if he was telling the truth about being prescribed to use it._

Anakin gripped the sides of his wheelchair, rolling back and forth in jumpy motions. "No, not just for meds. I need your help," the General took a deep breath. "I know that I'm not someone who people admire anymore. I've messed up everything—I can't walk, my friends are gone, my Master doesn't trust me with my own lightsaber, and I can't even piss on my own—but I swear I'm trying to be the person I once was. That man that people looked up to, the General that soldiers were willing to follow. I've…I've changed. I don't want to admit it, but I'm not the galaxy's golden boy any longer. I'm just…just Anakin Skywalker. And if you're not willing to fight alongside of me, I understand. I can't protect you the way I used to be able to, but I swear I'll die trying."

Leo couldn't register what all was coming out of the General's mouth.

 _What did he want him to do?_

"I know I've cost you so much already," he continued. Leo convinced himself he was imagining the strain in the General's voice, the liquid gathering in his eyes. "And-and no man should have to go through amputation and learning how to use a contraption instead of his own flesh. I can't be the one to sling an arm around your shoulder and tell you that everything's gonna be normal now because it won't be. It never will be— _Force, you're missing a part of yourself,_ it's not gonna feel normal. But I can tell you that you're stronger now because of it. You're stronger and you're _alive_ which is all I can ask of myself these days. I'm _alive_ , and I've _messed_ up my life past the point where the Jedi can brush it off and say I'm a foolish little boy. But we push through the pain 'cause we're soldiers, right? That's what we do. And we do it together."

Leo couldn't look away. The General's face was streaked with tears, his bottom lip trembling as he furiously scrubbed away at his cheeks and nose. His breaths were choppy as he tried to reel himself back under control. Leo wanted to look away, save the General his dignity, but he didn't dare. If he looked away, he might realize it was all a dream.

"I-I guess what I'm saying is I know I'm not the most worthy leader, but all I'm asking is one more time, will you follow me? I can't do this on my own."

Silence.

 _What could he say?_

"Never mind," Anakin said, brushing the last of the tears off of his face. "I shouldn't have asked."

Leo watched in horror as the General grabbed the wheels and pushed his way back to the door, key tag still gripped between his fingers. He couldn't let him leave, no, he just needed time to think, think _, think_.

"Wait!"

Leo had no idea what to say next, but as soon as the words flew out of his mouth, Anakin stopped. The wheelchair didn't turn around, it simply waited for Leo to say more. _If_ he could say more. _If he could just think through this fog of medication._

"General, I…you…you've always been my hero. All that you've gone through…all that you've overcome—it's like one of those beacons for me. I see you still pressing forward and I think I can fight on. I still want to fight. I was made for battle—I just never thought it would be like this—like fighting my own brain," Leo said, gripping his useless arm tight to his chest. "Don't want to sound sappy, Sir, but if where you're going is my last real battle, it will be my honor to spend it at your side."

Then the General turned his wheelchair around and smiled. A real, genuine smile that made Leo's insides thaw a little. He snapped a quick salute before grabbing onto his wheels again and pushing himself forward, until he was nearly touching Leo's bed.

"It will be my honor alone to fight with you, soldier. Now, we have a strategy to discuss. I need my Padawan and my Captain back, and you're the man for the job," Anakin said, leaning in conspiratorially. Leo inclined his ear, watching the plan unfold before his very eyes.

They talked until the medication sent them both into unconsciousness.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Anakin regretted gaining consciousness. His head throbbed from the sudden absence of the T3s, and his back had started to ache. Trying to slouch over to fight off the pulsing in his spine, he wrote letter after letter trying to explain why he had to leave to Padmé, Obi-Wan, Master Che…

Words were not kind to him. They evaded him and his message like he had the plague. He was nearly ready to throw his datapad across the room. After sitting for another ten minutes without producing a single finished sentence, Anakin let loose a feral growl while picking up the message datapad and hurling it at the door, letting the sound of the cracking machine ease his fury.

Then he dragged his hand over his face, ridiculing himself for letting his anger get the best of him once again. He swung his legs over the side of Leo's bed he had been sitting on—Leo had refused to let him sleep in his wheelchair—and braced himself with his arms. His wheelchair wasn't far, easily within arms reach, but Anakin didn't want to use it. _How trivial, not being able to retrieve something you've thrown a few paces away without having to situate yourself in a wheelchair?_ It was maddening. He didn't have time for this. He shouldn't have thrown the datapad.

Sucking in a deep breath, Anakin pushed himself off of the mattress and gripped the wheelchair's handles, pushing them forward as he tried to coordinate his legs to work with the wheel's speed. One step: his foot bends at a precarious angle as he put pressure on the next foot. Two steps: hand starts to sweat as the floor starts to become like slippery ice. Three steps: the wheelchair slips out from under him as his arms shoot forward with the wheelchair and his feet stay firmly planted on the ground behind.

Anakin hands barely catch him in time to spare his chin from splitting open once again. He lay there, panting, trying to regain his strength so he could at least lift himself into his wheelchair.

"Blast it all," Anakin cursed, anger bubbling up inside his chest once again. _Not like anyone would hear him anyway,_ he thought. _Not like anyone would care._

At least he was alone in his disgrace.

Then the door buzzed, followed by the distinct sound of metal sliding against metal. Anakin, in his flurry to get his discarded datapad missed the foreboding approaching presence that he so often wished would drop off the face of the planet.

Master Mace Windu.

Anakin let his head fall against the cool tile floor as the Jedi entered the room. He couldn't even imagine what this must look like to Master Windu.

"I didn't think that I'd ever see you groveling at my feet, Skywalker, but here I am, and there you are," Mace droned. "Are you on the ground for a reason, Skywalker?"

When Anakin didn't answer, Master Windu took the initiative. Feeling the familiar pull of the Force at his shoulders, Anakin was lifted off of the ground and floating in the air at a painfully slow rate. He grimaced, not letting his eyes meet the older Jedi's smug face.

 _How much worse could it get?_

Mace couldn't believe he had caught Skywalker on the ground. He had obviously fallen—and almost guaranteed couldn't get back up on his own. That fact alone gave Mace a good reason to stand where he was—holding Skywalker at eye's level and waiting patiently for Skywalker to ask him what he was doing here. He could wait. Yes, he could wait for a _long_ time.

"Skywalker, I heard you were paralyzed from the _waist_ down. That doesn't affect your speech."

"No, Master," Skywalker answered.

Not the response he was expecting. _Perhaps Skywalker's current state had taken all of the snide remarks out of him._

"If you could place me in my chair, Master," Skywalker said, his tone barely hinting at his normal stubbornness.

Seeing no good reason to ruin the moment, Mace stalled a little longer, letting Skywalker hang in the air. His legs _truly did_ look useless. _What a shame,_ Mace mused, _that Skywalker won't be able to fulfill his supposed 'Chosen One' destiny._

He wished that the Council would hear out his 'I-told-you-so.'

This limp, haggard-looking boy in front of him who was clearly hung over on his own medication was no Chosen One. Midichlorians can lie. If Qui-Gon Jinn could see his prodigy now…

"He would be proud," the boy said, finally meeting Mace's surprised gaze. So maybe his legs didn't work, but his powers in the Force were still strong. Mace mustn't have been covering his thoughts well enough. "Qui-Gon would be proud that I haven't given up."

Mace chewed that sentence over slowly. "Doesn't matter if the galaxy's given up on you," he replied dryly. The boy's eyes widened a fraction. _Good_ , Mace thought, _I have his attention at last._

Still, he didn't want to ruin the fun. He pushed Anakin's wheelchair a little farther away, at the same time hoisting the boy higher into the air.

"Haven't you heard the news lately, Skywalker? The galaxy's in chaos. Palpatine is wreaking havoc on villages, cities, towns—no one feels safe from the Separatists and their strengthened armies. Dooku's gone into hiding—not even the _Sith_ feel safe from your _friend_."

Anakin tried to interject. "He's not my frie—"

"And here you are, the Chosen One, face first on the floor of his hospital room, immersed _so deep_ in his own horrible fate that he can't bring himself to think of anyone else in the galaxy that might need him."

The boy was starting to shake.

"I've been in the battles, Skywalker. I've seen the amount of clones dropping by the day. I've seen Jedi's getting picked off by the most powerful Sith the galaxy has ever seen. The Council has given up on you, Skywalker. They're counting on _me_ to bring this galaxy peace again. Do you understand what that means, boy?"

Here, Mace paused, waiting for the tantrum that was surely about to happen. Instead, all he saw was a flash of resignation on Anakin's face as his body continued to shiver from some unknown cold source.

"It means the galaxy's over your fame. You're not the Chosen One. You're just a self-pitying, broken, worthless, foolish little boy way out of his league. Let the more experienced Jedi take over, Skywalker. Leave the Jedi Order."

Anakin let out a cry as unwanted memories flashed through his brain.

It was all in Palpatine's taunting voice.

 _"I am sorry Anakin. You are quite innocent in this matter. It's too bad that you've been…mh…broken."_

 _"It's too bad, really. You had so much potential…all of us could see it. I shouldn't have stalled for as long as I did. No matter, someone else will come along."_

 _"You are of no use to be anymore."_

 _"The Separatist tank should have finished you off!"_

 _"I had such grand plans for you. Now, you're worth nothing. Not even the Jedi have use for you now."_

 _"Foolish boy, foolish Jedi. Foolish galaxy! Not even the Dark Side would stoop low enough to use a reject like yourself."_

When Mace finally set him down, it wasn't in his chair, it was on the ground once again. He hit the floor with a thud. The freezing tile did nothing to quell Anakin's shivering or his nightmarish memories. The words kept echoing through his brain over, over, over…

"I hope you reconsider whatever plan you were making to _save the galaxy,_ Skywalker. The galaxy has a new savior. And _I_ plan on doing things the way that they were supposed to be accomplished—by the Temple rules."

The Jedi turned and left, leaving Anakin crumpled on the cold, hard ground, to weak to get up and not quite sure if he ever wanted to again.

* * *

Rex couldn't even find a voice to scream with any longer.

It had been two days—he was sure of it—but each minute stretched on into an eternity. The electricity that kept flooding through him scattered his thoughts as another near-silent scream ripped through his parched throat.

"I tire of your attitude, Captain," Dooku scolded. Rex flinched away from the sound, pushing himself farther into the bedframe. _All he had to do is keep the lightning away from Ahsoka. He just had to keep her safe. General Skywalker would come for them. Anakin would come—_

 _"Augh!"_

The lightning was cut short and ended in a slap to his fried head. Rex nearly landed on top of Ahsoka, still tied to the bed frame. Her face was peacefully unaware—whatever she had drank two nights ago mixed with the sedative administered by Dooku. It had left her unconscious—or so Rex hoped was unconsciousness and not near-death—and unavailable for Dooku to touch.

He wanted to stay strong. For her. For Anakin.

He would come. He would find them.

He always did.

"I will not ask you again, Captain," Dooku's voice was sharp, promising more pain. "What is the condition of Anakin Skywalker, and why has it put Darth Sidious in a rampage?"

Rex clenched his teeth, bracing himself. "My General will come, and you can see for yourself."

Dooku lashed out once again, the lightning spiking to the temperature of his anger. Rex twisted against his bonds, face contorting in agony. How tempting it was to betray his General—betray Anakin—and believe that if he did the torture would end. How easy to just give in and let the Sith win…

The stream of lightning ended, and Rex choked out a breath before it could begin again. When nothing came, Rex risked a glance upward at his captor.

Dooku was staring out the dirty, smudged window of the abandoned inn with a smirk on his face. Blaring painfully bright in Rex's eyes, a holo-sign was posted right in line with their window, casting an eerie glow across the otherwise dark room. On the holo-sign, Anakin appeared sitting in his wheelchair, his usual battle-glower frowning down upon Dooku and Rex. Alongside of his form was these words: _I may have lost my ability to walk, but I haven't lost my ability to fight back. The Republic needs all of us!_

Rex suddenly lost his ability to breathe.

"My, my, Captain Rex. Looks like your General _won't_ be coming for you after all. I apologize on his behalf, but it seems that you'll be staying a little longer than you planned."

And even though Dooku turned and left the room, Rex still felt an utter sense of dread.

He would come.

He had to.

Because no one else would.

* * *

Anakin didn't know how long he lay on the ground.

It could have been hours. It could have been minutes.

All he knew is that everything hurt.

His back ached, his head throbbed, his chin burned, his shoulder felt like it was on fire, and his heart constricted in his chest.

Master Windu was right.

Palpatine was right.

 _Worthless, broken, foolish._

 _Not the Chosen One_.

He couldn't even get up off of the floor.

How could he expect to save Rex and Ahsoka?

As horrible as Anakin felt, no tears came. His eyes stayed dry as he thought of Master Windu's words again and again. It wasn't true, it _couldn't_ be true.

 _Everyone had given up on him?_

Anakin, feeling the hope slip out of him by the second, picked up his head to see the datapad still sitting on the ground, only an arms length away. Using his arms to drag himself over to the cracked device, Anakin retrieved it and looked at his letters—now distorted from the spiderwebbing on the screen. He brushed his hair off of his forehead, and began again.

 _Obi-Wan._

 _I am writing this letter to you because you deserve better than having to worry about me every second of the day. You've been there from the beginning of my journey as a Jedi right to the very end of it. I have realized something I've never known before: I am not like other Jedi, and I never will be. No matter how much meditation, I will never be at peace. I will never conquer my anger. I will never come to rest with my past or my future. Still, I strive to be someone I am not, someone I can never be. I will never regret following Master Qui-Gon and you that day, and I am forever in debt for all you have taught me, but it is time for me to go. The Jedi Council doesn't understand me like you can, and I have found that my constant striving to impress them has only led me to forget about the people that truly care about me for who I am, not just for my part in the fate of the galaxy. You will always have a special place in my heart, Master, and I know you will understand why I have to go after my Captain and my Padawan, even if you don't agree with me. You were always like that—so tolerant of me in all of my faults. I am sorry for every gray hair I've added to your beard, and every sorrow I've weighed your heart down with. I hope someday you can forgive me._

 _Anakin Skywalker, your friend always._

Anakin took his fingers off of the datapad and admired his letter. Reading out loud once through, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull, Anakin readied the letter to be sent to Obi-Wan.

"I hope my beard isn't gray."

Anakin dropped his datapad again. The machine split in three different parts.

"H-How long have you been there, Master?" Anakin asked, incredulous. His senses must be more affected by his concussion than he originally thought.

"Long enough," Obi-Wan replied, walking out of the doorway and to his former Padawan's side. "Give me your hand."

Anakin stretched out his arms and Obi-Wan took them, helping him over onto his back. Staring up at his Master, not sure what to say, Anakin worked his jaw. What _could_ he say, if Obi-Wan had listened to his whole letter? He wouldn't be able to leave—Obi-Wan would tell Master Che and she would lock him in his room. Rex and Ahsoka would still be out there somewhere. _Blast it all,_ Anakin thought coldly, missing his Master's knowing smile.

"Anakin, I won't stop you from going."

He jerked his head off the floor, craning his neck to see Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan just adjusted his grip on Anakin's arms and hauled him up, pulling his wheelchair over to him with a tug of the Force. Anakin landed in the chair gracelessly, bone-tired and in too much pain to tolerate Obi-Wan's jokes.

"It's not funny, you know," Anakin grumbled. Obi-Wan, despite Anakin telling him the opposite was true, chuckled softly.

"I wish to go with you. In all seriousness."

 _What?_

 _Was he on pain medication that was messing with his ability to think?_

"I assure you that I am not on pain medication that strong as to make me change my mind. If you will allow me to accompany you, of course."

Anakin pulled his hands through his tangled hair before he could muster the courage to respond. "Master, it…it might not end well. And you're barely recovered, and I can't even stand on my own—"

"That hasn't stopped me so far."

"—And there's only so much Leo can protect us because he's down an arm and only wields a blaster, and I don't even have my lightsaber—"

"No, I have it."

Then out of the folds of his cloak, Obi-Wan drew Anakin's lightsaber. With only a slight tremor in his hands, Obi-Wan held it out.

"If there was ever a doubt it my mind that you couldn't handle this weapon, it was only out of the fear of losing you. I wanted to trust you Anakin, and I suppose some part of me always has."

"I can't accept this," Anakin said, flustered by his Master's sudden act of faith. "Lightsabers are for Jedi and I'm…I'm something else now."

"Who are you now, young one?"

"I'm-I'm volatile. I can't control my anger; I can't give it away to the Force," Anakin paused, gathering his thoughts. "Do you know how I ended up on the ground, Master?"

Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I don't suppose it had anything to do with Master Windu looking so gleeful."

"No, I threw this—" Anakin held up the broken parts of the datapad. "—at the door and was too angry and stubborn to get into my wheelchair and retrieve it."

Obi-Wan paused. _"Hmm."_

"And…and then I stayed on the ground because of Master Windu."

Obi-Wan nodded at this, pacing a large square of the room before returning to Anakin's side.

"Did he really look gleeful?" Anakin asked, smiling despite himself. Obi-Wan returned a grin.

"Remarkably so. I haven't seen him so smug since the day that he got that Jedi Starfighter from the Republic's stock." Obi-Wan and Anakin both remembered that day fondly—moreso Obi-Wan, since Anakin had been jealous of the ship for quite some time before realizing that the malfunctions the ship's engine presented outweighed it's sleek design.

Anakin snickered when he thought of the older Jedi's face when he was presented the ship, Obi-Wan's chuckle turned heartier, and soon both men were clutching their sides as laughter filled the antiseptic room.

"It's good to have you back, Obi-Wan," Anakin said through the spurts of laughter. "And it will be good to fight at your side, just like old times."

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes alight with that extraordinary hope that Anakin admired him for. "Anakin, you never cease to amaze me."

"Nor do you, Master."

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan quickly cleared his throat. "I did just promise Vokara that I wouldn't join in on any of your crazy schemes."

 _"Pffft,"_ Anakin snorted as he pictured Master Che on a rampage to find two of her patients gone because of him. _Again._

As Anakin took the lightsaber from Obi-Wan as he offered it, Obi-Wan bit back the feeling of relief. The battle hadn't even started yet—the real battle, at least.

Laughter can cover up hurt and anger as well as a sheet can cover a tank, and Obi-Wan could sense the blood boiling beneath Anakin's skin.

He was more than well acquainted with hidden injuries in the past; not all of the time those injuries were physical.

Anakin's well-played part of _"I'm fine"_ set him on edge.

* * *

Padmé sat on her bed, hiding her face in her hands, as the news drifted through the room from the latest holojournal. It was all in her secretary's voice, but today it sounded especially menacing.

 _"While news of the Separatist takeover continues to become more and more disturbing, it seems as though the Republic's own Jedi have started to take more than just the initiative on the battlefield. All over town, propaganda for the war efforts have been posted—each featuring a new angle on the galaxy's own Anakin Skywalker. The young Jedi prodigy has been under the weather for quite some time now, not showing himself in any battles since earlier in the year. Now, on every screen across the galaxy, this bright young man is aiding the Republic Senate in getting the public's support. Clad in a cream tunic and shiny brown boots, Skywalker shows off the injury that has essentially taken him off of the Jedi Knight menu: paralysis. What the galaxy would like to know: is it permanent? Could the supposed 'Chosen One' of the Jedi Order be a cripple for the rest of his life? Well, whatever the case, we're wishing him the very best and a speedy recovery surrounded by his friends and family. Speaking of which, Skywalker's Padawan and Captain have still been reported as missing in action. If anyone has news of their whereabouts, report to this number—"_

Padmé let loose a feral shriek as she picked up the holojournal and threw it across the room. It hit the far wall with a satisfying _thunk_ , leaving a dent that surely would get her in trouble later.

She didn't care.

She knew that the day was coming. She had heard the Senate vote 'yes.' She had stalled for as long as she could, but it wasn't enough. She had failed Anakin.

Fighting the tears that started to gather in her eyes as the flickering holojournal produced a flickering image of Rex and Ahsoka's faces, Padmé tucked herself into her bed—it was too large for just her, she should be sharing it. Anakin would make this feel smaller. His presence was always so large, so comforting…

With too many saddening thoughts to process and make sense of, Padmé cried until reality drifted away and her consciousness was stolen by dreams.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 **I'm sorry for the long wait. Life is hectic. Words don't come easy. And coffee dates are hard-pressed to schedule these days.**

Obi-Wan was more than conscious of Anakin's strange behavior.

In fact, he was so aware of it, his eye was twitching from the constant surveillance. Both men held sacks that they were filling with food and other supplies for their journey: spare tunics, medical supplies, along with anything else Obi-Wan could think they might possibly need. Obi-Wan asked twice if Anakin wanted to trade his wheelchair for a hoverchair. Both times he shot down the offer.

Anakin was unusually subdued and silent as they packed up their belongings and necessities for the trip. His eyes never left his task, and he never asked for help. The Force was used so frivolously that Obi-Wan couldn't help but cringe. After fruitlessly trying to start a conversation with the young man multiple times, Obi-Wan gave up. He bit his lip, turned around, and continued to pack all the possible medical supplies he could think of.

Anakin couldn't wait until Leo returned to break the awkward silence that had settled between himself and Obi-Wan. He could feel his Master's eyes piercing his back as he hunched over his sack of supplies. Had he done something wrong? Could Obi-Wan sense his simmering anger underneath his skin?

Mace Windu's words echoed around in his head until his skull felt like it was about to explode.

 _"You're not the Chosen One. You're just a self-pitying, broken, worthless, foolish little boy way out of his league. Let the more experienced Jedi take over, Skywalker. Leave the Jedi Order."_

Anakin wanted to scream, to cry, to yell and throw things at walls. He battled the feeling downward once again, letting it fuel his horrendous packing job. Reaching out with the Force, Anakin let a jug of water float down toward him. It would feel good to let it all out—to tell Obi-Wan what really happened. But would he believe him? Obi-Wan had such faith in the Jedi Order that to hear the words that came from a Master would crush him.

And Anakin still wasn't sure how healed Obi-Wan was.

He still hadn't heard the story of how his Master was injured in battle—was it by a blaster? Lightsaber? Something else? Situations rolled through Anakin's vision: Obi-Wan battling a Sith, Obi-Wan on the receiving end of enemy fire, Obi-Wan losing focus and getting hit by a clone's own blaster…the possibilities were endless. And if Obi-Wan didn't trust him with that information, maybe he wasn't ready for Anakin's own story.

He threw a container of caf in the sack.

He figured he might need it.

* * *

Vokara Che sat with her fingers latched tightly across the bridge of her nose. She had been sitting next to a Kaminoan for over four hours, and the lack of caf intake as well as the constant drone of the being beside her was nearly driving her over the edge. Surely, whatever information they had couldn't be worth the headache they were giving her.

"…and of course, all of the treatments would be solely experimental. I would need a guardians signature, since testing has only been done through mathematical probabilities of success."

Vokara pinched her nose a little tighter. "With all due respect, there is no guardian of Skywalker. He is free of attachments—like all Jedi. And I don't like the sound of experimental."

The Kaminoan puffed out her chest. "Our scientists are top of their universities. Mistakes are hard to come by—"

"Ah, but they do come by. Do you know how many surgeries I have performed to remove that little 'mistake' they made in our clone troopers?" Vokara rumbled, patience wearing thinner by the second.

"That is not of my concern. We are here to discuss the former Jedi—"

"He is still a Jedi."

"—Knight that is paralyzed from the waist down. Or am I mistaken?"

Vokara harrumphed. After months and months of research, this was the only lead she had found. She couldn't afford to lose it—for Skywalker's sake.

For her own sanity.

"Fine. Just do yourself a favor and skip to the part where Skywalker walks again," Vokara hissed.

The Kaminoan smiled a sickly, knowing smile before continuing. "As I was saying, the treatments will be experimentally applied in several forms: none of which have been performed before, but all of which I hold in high regard. My scientists will not give up easily."

"Nor will I," Vokara agreed, releasing her death grip on her nose. "You've seen the advertisements, haven't you?"

"Indeed."

"Then you know how desperate the boy is. They're threatening to take everything from him—his job, his life, his future—I cannot while it is in my power let them take away his hope."

"Hope is a fragile thing," the Kaminoan said skeptically. "As a fellow doctor, I can understand the ache for success, but what you are asking me to infer is illogical. You care for the boy, do you not? You do not wish him well for your own name, but for his own. Am _I_ mistaken?"

Vokara let out a slow, long breath through her lips.

 _Do not ruin this chance._

"My motives are not of your concern. I will give you two weeks. Two weeks to give me your experiment outlines, or we do not have an agreement," Vokara quipped. The Kaminoan nodded gleefully.

"We'll deliver it in one."

* * *

Ahsoka felt like she was rising from a pit of mud, slowly, thickly, coming to reality. Her head felt heavy, her eyelids crusted shut and her limbs numb. She couldn't put her finger on where she was…the Jedi Temple? In a ship? On a mission?

 _"Ahsoka,"_ a whisper drifted through her mind gracefully.

"Hmmm?" Her tongue didn't work right. It felt too big, too dry to belong to her. When had she last drunk something? She couldn't remember.

"Ahsoka." The whisper was more urgent now. There was a hint of fear behind its tone. Ahsoka halfheartedly tried again to open her eyes, this time succeeding. Her vision soon cleared to show a bloodied, broken human.

She recoiled in fear. _Where was she? Who was that? How did he know her name?_ The human grabbed at her face with it's shaking hands, caressing her cheeks and mumbling grateful words. She grimaced.

"Are you _ff_ hur _ff?_ " the human asked, concerned. Ahsoka tried to bat his hands away, only to find her wrists clamped together by handcuffs.

"No, I'm fine, get off!" she cried, trying to inch away. The human looked confused, then hurt, then angry. He took her bound hands and pulled them up to his face, making her feel the scars, the wounds, the old blood and the new bruises. His split lip held a bead of fresh blood that dripped down his chin as he spoke.

"Do you kno _ff_ wha _ff_ I' _ff_ done to prote _ff_ you? Wha _ff_ I' _ff_ endure _ff_ so you won _ff_ get hur _ff?_ I'm dead, Ahsoka, I can' _ff_ li _ff_ any longer alone, in pain."

Then the world hit Ahsoka square in the chest.

Oh, _the Force_ , how could she have been so stupid?

"He's no _ff_ coming _ff_ or us, Ahsoka. He's no _ff_ coming," Rex, her Captain— _her beautiful, kind hearted, broken Captain—_ wept into her trembling hands. She touched his wounds gently, growing sicker in her stomach by the second. Ahsoka knew what Rex had done for her she could never repay, not even if they made it out alive. So she sat up straighter, finding the rest of her body was not bound in any way, and held her Captain tightly.

"Rex," Ahsoka let him touch her now, watching as he shook with effort to stay upright. "Rex, _you are so brave_." She kept him steady, let him rest on her shoulder as he shuddered and gasped.

"It' _ffs_ always _ff_ or you, Ahsoka. I couldn' _ff_ le _ff_ Dooku hur _ff_ you, no _ff…_ no _ff…_ I promised Anakin…now he's…we're going _ff_ o die."

Rex's thoughts were abstract, and he grabbed at each one to try and express all the emotions he was feeling—guilt, happiness, regret, fear, hate—but he could catch none of them. It was all just out of his reach, and he was so tired…

With Ahsoka awake and well, the days of sleeplessness and pain crept up on him and threatened to swallow him whole. Ahsoka stroked his back slowly, soothing and aggravating his wounds at the same time. It was all worth it, he confirmed, it was all worth it because she was safe. She was safe and she was here now, and she would take care of him until they both died of starvation.

Dooku made sure to get his point across on that.

When the advertisement had flickered on, Dooku realized that him keeping Rex and Ahsoka was no longer useful. Anakin couldn't come and save them, so there was no use for bait. The information he wanted was being broadcast all over the galaxy on every street sign, so there was no need for their knowledge. He left them there to die of injury, or starve—whichever came first.

Rex had sat a day alone, quivering in agony but refusing to sleep in case Dooku didn't keep his promise. Ahsoka slept blissfully through it all as Rex pleaded with the Force to send help. While Dooku never came back, nor did any form of help. Rex wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"Rex, look at me, Rex," Ahsoka instructed gently. Rex turned his swollen face off of her shoulder and swayed slightly as he got used to propping himself up on his own weight. "Is Dooku gone?"

"Yes," Rex croaked, fighting back thoughts of burning, sizzling lightning torching his skin. "He' _ff_ no _ff_ coming back."

"Then lay down and let me treat some of your wounds. We'll be here a while, right?" Ahsoka said through her tears. The humor was lost on Rex.

"He's no _ff_ coming," Rex said again, mournfully.

"Who's not coming?" Ahsoka prodded gently.

"Anakin."

And as Ahsoka lowered Rex onto the soiled mattress, shushing his fears and telling him fallacies, her heart split in two at that name.

* * *

Leo stood at the end of the hangar, fidgeting with his now-useless stump. The day before he had asked Master Che to remove the broken mechanical hand. She had sent another Healer on the job, but he thanked her anyway. She had never treated a clone for as long as she had housed him. He was grateful.

A sound triggered his adrenaline to spike. He turned around slowly, dreading the possibilities of being seen.

"Hey! You! Clone!" a voice called. Leo snapped a salute before approaching the figure.

"Yes, sir? Does there seem to be a problem, sir?"

As the figure drew closer, Leo could make out the normal med corp uniform, a cart full of medical supplies, and the badge dictating him as a surgeon general.

"Yes, there is a problem. Has Master Healer Che cleared you to be out of bed yet? Because I'm quite certain I performed a major operation on you cart full of medical supplies, and the badge dictating him as a surgeon general.

"Yes, there is a problem. Has Master Healer Che cleared you to be out of bed yet? Because I'm quite certain I performed a major operation on you _yesterday,"_ the med corp surgeon snapped. Leo swallowed the pounding feeling in his throat.

"I, uh, I'm not sure if I'm the clone you're thinking of," Leo said slowly, pulling his jacket over his stump more carefully. "I didn't go into surgery yesterday."

"I'm quite certain you _did_ ," the surgeon said, pulling on a pair of gloves and sorting through the tools on his cart before speaking again. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I have twelve different sedatives with me. I'll pick one and use one if you don't come with me. Now."

The surgeon's hand hovered over his syringes. Leo started to sweat.

"You should believe the man, General."

The voice echoed around the hangar: strong, fierce, commanding.

Every inch the Anakin Skywalker that Leo had heard stories of.

"He's not the clone you're looking for."

Another voice joined in harmony to the resounding tone. General Kenobi. Together at long last, exactly how they should be.

The surgeon general blinked a few times before turning from General Kenobi, then back to Leo. "He's not the clone I'm looking for?" he repeated, confused.

"Not at all," Anakin agreed. "But really, we are in a hurry, so if you would just take those shiny new gadgets and move out of our way, we've got a ship to catch."

Hoisting two large sacks over his shoulders, Obi-Wan walked briskly past the amazed clone and to the small carrier that laid waiting for them. Anakin wheeled past as well, motioning Leo forward as he went.

"C'mon, soldier. Let's go get our friends back."

And as Leo boarded the ship full of war heroes, packed in tightly with supplies for their journey ahead, he couldn't believe he was conscious.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Forgive me. I have no time nor knowledge of make-up.

* * *

Rex struggled to keep conscious as Ahsoka attempted to bandage the worst of his wounds. She tore the bedspread into thin strips, wrapping the lacerations tightly to prevent infection. Repeatedly, Rex would moan and Ahsoka would shush him. She'd say something along the lines of "We're almost done."

 _"Ergh,"_ Rex grimaced as she tied off a strip on his bicep.

"It's almost over, Rex."

They weren't almost over.

The cursed sign still illuminated the room an eerie white-blue, turning Rex's wounds to black and Ahsoka to a ghostly pink. He trembled slightly as he felt her move to grab another strip of cloth. _What good was preventing infection if they were just going to starve anyway?_ Rex mourned. _Anakin couldn't find them here. Not in a wheelchair. Not without any clue to where they were._

Ahsoka pulled the cloth tight around his shoulder.

 _"Erh,_ Ahsoka stop _ff_ ," Rex pleaded. His swollen lip still prevented him from talking clearly, but his head was in a better place now than it was a few hours ago. "Gi _ffe_ me a _ff_ ew minu _ff_ es. I need a brea _ff_."

"Okay," she answered quietly. Rex turned his head slowly, as to not disturb his carefully scabbing wounds on his head, to look at his Commander. Her face was blotchy from crying and her eyes were red. Still, she looked every bit as beautiful. His crusted eyes blinked blearily.

"Wha _ff_ would I do wi _ff_ ou _ff_ you?" Rex murmured. Ahsoka inclined her head, not sure if she heard right.

"What, Rex? Where does it hurt?" she asked, assuming him speaking of pain. Rex shook his head slightly. Still, forcing out more words already made his swollen face ache. He settled for closing his eyes and reaching for Ahsoka's hand. She took his scab-covered fingers and laced them with hers. "What hurts the worst, Rex?" she probed. Rex only shuddered in response; his every nerve felt like it had been torn apart and set on fire.

"Okay, then," Ahsoka continued. "One squeeze for head."

Rex squeezed once.

"Two squeezes for torso."

Rex squeezed twice.

"Three for lower body."

Rex squeezed three times.

He even gathered up the strength to snort at his own melancholy joke.

Ahsoka didn't think it was funny at all.

Rex lay, totally exposed, on the disgusting mattress before her. His body was a minefield of cuts and abrasions, of bruises and welts, of blood dried and new. She had laid waste to the sheets, shredding each bit and tying Rex together again with them. He was taking the pain like a champion. And it was all her fault.

Then he had squeezed so many times.

So much pain.

All for her.

Her and her blinding rage.

And what for? What was she so _kreffing_ mad about that made her storm away from everyone she loved, jeopardizing her Captain's life for her own liking. She drank, she cried, she yelled for all that she had thought she lost. And here it was, all wrapped up in this wonderful human being. How could she have been so angry with her Master's feelings when all along, she'd felt the same about Rex?

She waited a little longer, watching Rex huff out labored breaths. He tried to hold still, letting the lancing pain seep into his muscles and ebb away for short seconds at a time. Still, she could see that it was slowly killing him.

They needed help fast.

She stopped, wondering how damaged her bond with Anakin was. Could she still communicate through it? Would Anakin know where they were? Pressing their current situation as far out of her mind as she possibly could, she searched for Anakin's presence. His was dim—much dimmer than he'd ever been in her time as his Padawan. She focused hard on that presence: _hard, harder, harder—_

 _"Master, please. Undercity. Dooku captured us. We need help, fast. Rex is dying,"_ she spelled out carefully. She wanted to give him as many clues as possible. Frankly, she didn't remember their location. Or how they got here. And Rex was in a haze of pain—not the most credible source. All she knew was they never left Coruscant.

And that Dooku knew everything.

* * *

Anakin grimaced as a headache to be reckoned with stormed his forehead. Pinching his nose tightly with his mecho, he drew in shallow breaths one at a time. It felt like he was hung over times twenty on the pain scale.

Then he heard a far away voice in the back of his mind, swimming through his hazy thoughts.

 _"Master, please. Undercity. Dooku captured us. We need help, fast. Rex is dying."_

Anakin's eyes snapped open with a start.

"It's Ahsoka!" he yelped, grabbing onto Leo to shake him awake as well. The clone quickly drew the gun at his side, his arm trembling and his eyes alert.

"Sir!" Leo said, his voice still hoarse from the few hours of sleep he'd managed to steal. They had been traveling all around the outer rim, searching popular cantinas and dives, as well as old landmarks that Ahsoka or Rex was fond of. It was taking too long, Anakin knew it deep down, but they didn't know what else to do. They had no ground on which to spring off of.

"They're in the undercity!" he gasped, his hands finding their way through his long hair in relief.

Obi-Wan leaned back from his position in the cockpit. "Are you sure?" he questioned. They hadn't been gone for longer than a day, gathering a few winks of sleep when they could. It was logical for Obi-Wan to think that Anakin was hearing things. Especially how his Padawan had left. If that hadn't severed their bond, Obi-Wan wasn't sure what would.

"No, no I'm sure," Anakin said excitedly. He rubbed at his stubble-covered face a few times to wake himself up. "That was her voice. They're in Dooku's hands. And Rex is hurt bad."

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath.

"What would Dooku want with them? Hasn't he gone into hiding as well since Palpatine's secret was uncovered? The Chancellor has hatred for him just as much as he does you," Obi-Wan challenged. Anakin growled in frustration.

"I'm not crazy!" Anakin yelled. "Turn the ship around, we're going back to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan winced, looking up and down the control panel. _What could he believe?_ Anakin was desperate, sleep deprived, and out of practice with the Force. It easily could have been a mistake. Still, they had no better option. Wherever they were then…Coruscant's undercity…what was the difference if they were still looking?

"We'd be ruining our sweeping motion…" Obi-Wan argued weakly. Anakin hoarsely disagreed with a few choice words. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes before reprogramming the ship to point toward Coruscant once again.

"Thank you, Master," Anakin said relieved. He flopped lifelessly into his wheelchair's backrest, mouth twitching between a grateful smile and a determined, grim line. "We're gonna get them back. I swear on my life, we'll get you back," he promised to the empty air. Obi-Wan stepped out of the cockpit, sitting down next to the hardworking bolts that kept Anakin from rolling all across their ship.

"Anakin… we have a little while before we reach Coruscant again," Obi-Wan started, unsure of how to bring up the subject. "Do you mind if we talk?"

"Sure, Master," Anakin answered, straightening in his chair. His eyes darted over Obi-Wan's form once or twice uneasily. "What about?"

"I want to talk about you."

"Oh."

Thousands of possibilities ran through Anakin's mind as he tried to calculate how to answer each question he might get. _Would he ask about my legs?_ He wondered. _Or is he going to ask about why Ahsoka left? Maybe about why Rex went with her? About why I brought Leo? About Padmé?_

"How are you?"

 _What?_

 _That was it?_ Anakin smiled nervously. _That couldn't be it. Master's questions never were one-fold._ He searched for an answer.

"I-I am goo—"

"Don't say your good, Anakin. I want an honest answer," Obi-Wan berated.

Anakin swallowed hard and tried again.

"I'm in a lot of pain, Master," he admitted. "Nothing's easy anymore." Anakin gripped the sides of his wheelchair as Obi-Wan nodded slowly, deep in thought. His eyes glided over to Leo, who sat uncomfortably still as if he was trying to be invisible. His blaster hung loosely in his hand. "What about you, kid?"

Leo looked up, surprised. "Wh-what, Sir?"

"How are _you_ doing?" Anakin switched the question over.

Obi-Wan went _"Hmm."_

The clone's hand fluttered to what was left of his arm. "I'm…not right. Anywhere. I'm all lopsided, I can't shoot without being a shaky mess, and my mind…"

"Is it that chip, still?" Anakin prodded. The clone squeezed his eyes shut.

"No, Sir. Every time I close my eyes I think about what would happen if…"

The ship's lights flickered once, then twice, then went off entirely. Obi-Wan stood up fast, hand hovering above his lightsaber. All three men turned and looked out the cockpit window.

Slowly, they were being pulled into the wake of a large, rickety ship.

"What the _kri—"_ Anakin swore, unlocking his chair harshly and flying toward the cockpit. "We don't have time for this: Rex is dying out there somewhere!" His hands flew across the control panel; trying every evasive maneuver he could to escape the forceful grip of the ship.

None of them worked.

Obi-Wan's hand clasped on to his shoulder.

"We can't do anything about it now, young one," he tried to comfort. "It seems as though we will be making an unexpected stop to an old friend."

"Old friend, Sir?" Leo spit. "Hondo's no friend."

Obi-Wan "Hmmed" again. "We'd better hope he's a friend today."

* * *

Padmé stood in front of the tall looking glass in horror of her latest outfit. The low cut collar made her pale skin prickle against the cold air drifting through her bedroom. Her hair was slicked high over her forehead and down over a tall emerald headband. Pink powder made her face look untruthfully healthy. She hadn't slept since she heard the news about…

Her servants jittered as they hurried to primp and ready the last of her dress and face and hair. They must have sensed her murderous anger simmering below the surface of her skin. Even then it made her eyes dance with flames.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," one girl managed to speak. "But if you could just turn around a bit so we can hemp your—"

"I don't mind it long," Padmé interrupted quickly. Everything already felt as if it were about to suffocate her. "I think I'll go like this. Thank you, ladies. You are excused."

"But ma'am—!" Another tried to stop her from turning and leaving the pedestal she had been standing on for the last three hours. "We didn't finish—"

"It doesn't matter if it's finished!" Padmé called over her shoulder before she shut the door. "It'll be called fashion tomorrow!"

She hurried away, crisp dress bunched between her slim fingers. Her ship was already waiting for her. She boarded quickly, dropping into the cold leather seat with a sigh. _If only she could see Ani before she went to argue his case in front of the whole Senate. If only she could hear him cheer her on as she spoke…_

The Senate House arrived far too quickly for her liking.

The steps leading to the House were already bustling with people and aliens, wearing expensive things and walking on two feet, sure of their future…

She gripped her dress harder and started up the steps.

Senators joined her and departed quickly, having enough sense to not start up a conversation. She kept her eyes down, her lips set in a determined, red line.

She would not fail her husband.

Not this time.

As the Senate slowly gathered into the large auditorium, Padmé closed her eyes. She saw him in the forefront of her mind, his sly smile making his eyes bright and curious. His face covered in little cuts and bruises from his own stupidity and bravery. His hair messy, his clothing smelling of dust and debris.

Her Ani.

Not some piece of Republic propaganda.

Her eyes flicked open.

Her podium drifted toward the middle of the space, lights blooming a neon blue across her tight outfit. She sucked in a deep, calming breath.

 _For everything I love, let me win this debate,_ Padmé prayed.

Then, she spoke with a voice like thunder. "Fellow Senate members, we have made a grave mistake."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Obi-Wan made a conscious effort to stay calm.

Anakin certainly wasn't going to.

The ship landed ungracefully within the large frigate's dock, metal creaking under their feet as smoke poured through the opening door. Obi-Wan braced himself, standing firmly in front of Anakin who sat rigidly in his chair.

The Pirate Saucer Mothership was the last place they needed to be right then. Anakin still felt the pounding, painful presence of his Padawan in his temple, and with their ship in the hands of pirates, there was not a good chance of getting it back any time soon. Hopefully, their distress call was received before all systems shut down.

And on a totally other note, Anakin was missing his bowel program.

The smoke cleared slowly to reveal a battered-looking Weequay pirate bearing two blasters. With one twitch of his head, he motioned for Obi-Wan to follow him. Swallowing his anxiety, he followed the pirate out of the ship and into the dingy frigate's atmosphere.

Pirates roamed every which way, pushing and shoving past others with arms full of weapons or other stolen gear. A small group emerged from the crowd, making Obi-Wan smirk in anticipation.

The one and only Hondo Ohnaka.

"The tractor beam was a nice touch, Hondo," Obi-Wan called over the din. A low chuckle echoed around the space.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi. How do we keep meeting in such strange ways?" Hondo greeted, crossing the distance between them to clasp Obi-Wan warmly on the shoulder. Obi-Wan fought against flinching.

"The Force does work in odd ways, doesn't it?" Obi-Wan tried at agreement.

Hondo laughed again, his wrinkly gray face splitting with glee. "Kenobi, I did not know it was _your_ ship barely flying around my side of the galaxy. Maybe we would have let you go. But…now that you're here, there's no going back on a promise to my men. I hope you understand that."

Obi-Wan nodded stiffly.

"Though if you don't mind me cutting to the point early, do you mind if we use your refresher?" Obi-Wan interjected.

"Hm?"

Obi-Wan cleared his throat pointedly. "I mean no disrespect. I simply request the use of the nearest refresher. It has been a long journey for us and our ship is too small to have a 'fresher inside."

"Our ship? We?" Hondo grinned. "You brought friends with you, my friend?"

"Yes, as it happens I have been traveling with Anakin Skywalker. You remember him from when you held us both hostage?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. Hondo, to Obi-Wan's surprise, did not laugh at his jab.

His usual garish demeanor changed. His hands dropped to his sides.

"I've heard the news. About Skywalker. I knew a man once, who suffered from paraplegia. I…I am sorry to hear about it."

Obi-Wan staggered backward.

All this time, he was searching for Jedi's sympathy. For a Knight or Master to stoop down low enough to engage in Anakin's struggle. For _someone_ to acknowledge Anakin's disability for more than just a war effort.

But he didn't find it in a Jedi.

He found it in a thug.

"I…I am grateful for your condolences. I'm sure Anakin feels the same," Obi-Wan said, pushing his thoughts away. He felt the pirates drawing closer to their meeting to eavesdrop. In the chaos of their presences, he missed Anakin leaving the ship, Leo not far behind him. By the time he felt it, it was far too late.

Hondo's sad eyes met Anakin's defiant ones.

The pirate's shoulders sagged. "You're so young," slipped out of Hondo's mouth. Sweeping his hat off of his head, the criminal dipped into a sad salute. "To the days of heroism, and to the days of triumph!"

The pirates around them followed suit, encompassing them in a round of applause and cheers to which none of the guests could comprehend.

Anakin blinked.

This was just another trap.

They were pirates, for _kriff's_ sake.

Obi-Wan and him had faced these kinds of thugs before, outsmarted them once. They could do it again. Steal the ship back, figure out how to bypass the tractor beam, and get back on the road to Coruscant. Find Rex and Ahsoka.

The rumble died down slowly, and the pirates went back about their business. Hondo let his men start to salvage their ship. Anakin winced as the wing was torn off with one sharp tug from a band of pirates.

 _Well,_ Anakin mused. _We'll steal a different ship, I guess._

Obi-Wan approached the pirate leader again, motioning to and fro with his hands. Then, with a nod of finality, he turned around and walked back to Anakin's side.

"Anakin, I know what you're thinking," Obi-Wan warned. "It is not wise nor is it tactful to try and break free of the ship. We'll just have to hope that our distress signal was received."

Anakin held his breath. He was going to shout, scream, cry at any second _. All the work they've gone through, all the searching and planning and waiting, just to end up pleading with the Senate to go rescue their friends?_

 _Who were most likely going to be killed or executed anyway?_

"Take me somewhere," Anakin demanded. "Get me out."

Obi-Wan gripped the handles of the wheelchair and pushed him quickly in a direction. "My thoughts exactly."

Turns out, the 'fresher was farther away than they thought. After crossing most of the large ship's entirety, Leo was not only dragging his feet, but so was Obi-Wan. Anakin's fingers just kept tapping at his chair's arms, twitchy and anxious.

"Say it, young one," Obi-Wan conceded. "It may as well be another light year before we reach the 'fresher."

Anakin let his hands run over the boiling hot wheels of the chair. Taking a deep breath, he fisted his hands and shut his eyes tight.

He yelled.

Loud, angry yelling first. Then softer, sadder, teary yelling. Objects around them lifted themselves off of the ground and gravitated toward the young man, pulled by the strong presence of the Force. Obi-Wan ducked as a crate of ammunition flew past his head.

If it was not here, not now, Obi-Wan knew Anakin would only get more withdrawn. More angry and hurt. Less like himself.

"Master, this isn't fair!" Anakin cried, letting the chaos around him settle to the ground. "It wasn't supposed to end this way!"

Obi-Wan straightened himself up before laying a hand on his former Padawan's shoulder. "This is not the end, young one."

"Master," Anakin said in a small voice. "Master, my friends are dying. I lose everyone. I lose them all and…"

"And what?"

"And I can't ever find them. I'm always too late."

Obi-Wan didn't know what to say.

"I wanted to kill them all, Master," Anakin said weakly, the fight draining out of him as he slumped in his chair. "I felt so angry, I wanted to kill them all with my own lightsaber."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

"Rex is dying, and if I am too late, it will be just like my mother."

The objects around them fell to the floor with a startling thud. Obi-Wan's eyes flicked open as his former Padawan turned around slowly.

"Master. 'Fresher. _Now,"_ Anakin whispered choppily. Obi-Wan gripped the handles with renewed fervor and raced once again toward the elusive room. Leo, who had taken advantage of the time they had paused, groggily got up from his seat against the wall and staggered a few steps. Decidedly low on pain killers, the clone slid back down the wall, clutching his stump to his chest, and shut his eyes.

Only a few seconds of rest, and he would feel much better…

* * *

Vokara Che held her breath as the plans for an amputation were laid out in front of her. Counting slowly to ten, she ground her teeth together.

 _Force, give me patience,_ she thought.

Then, taking back her prayer, she flipped the table over in one foul swoop.

"This is what you call a treatment?!" Vokara shouted at the Kaminoans gathered in front of her. "A total amputation? I have had enough of this _chit_ for one day. Get out of my sight."

The Kaminoans slowly ambled out of the room, sly grins stretching their grayish features. Vokara stared loathingly at the papers strewn across the cold tile floor. The blue light of a bacta tank illuminated the shadows deeply, casting the water-like substance's patterns against the Kaminoan's plans.

She toed a few of the plans in disgust, mentally cataloging what they had shown her. Contraptions, complex tissue surgeries, redistributing nerve ends to correspond with some sort of electronic shock, medicine after medicine applied in every form imaginable, and amputation…

Vokara was hoping she would solve everything here.

The Kaminoans were her last hope.

They only brought her dangerous, life-threatening procedures that clearly were procured with no thought of the patient.

Was he even a patient anymore?

She rarely visited him, either too busy or finding other things to do instead of perform his bowel program or check his vitals. She hadn't checked up on his stitches. She had effectively avoided him.

 _The boy was chasing her around the Halls of Healing, calling questions out in that strange, older voice he was developing. Vokara would answer in three words or less, trying to shake the boy off. She had work to do, and no time for Skywalker's antics. If he needed treating, of course, she would treat it. But answering these confounded questions?_

 _"Is it dangerous to have a fever?" he had asked. Vokara had harrumphed. The boy pressed on. "How do you know if you have a fever?" Vokara grumpily handed him her thermometer. "What's the worst number you can get?"_

 _"For humans? You don't want anything much higher than 38 degrees," Vokara answered offhandedly. The boy had swallowed hard._

 _"Is it dangerous to have a fever?" the boy asked again. Vokara had whirled around from her work, facing the boy sternly._

 _"I am working, Skywalker. And if you have nothing else to do but bother me all day, then_ I _would like to ask_ you _a question," Vokara had shouted. The boy had flinched, but didn't snark back._

 _Then Vokara caught a glimpse of the thermometer dangling between two of his fingers. The temperature read 41.4 degrees._

 _"Skywalker, did you read your own temperature?" Vokara asked, treading lighter now. The boy looked up at her, eyes wide and scared. Vokara plucked the medical utensil from the boy's hand. "Skywalker?"_

 _His eyes were glossy and his face was pale. He shivered slightly as her hand met his forehead. Skywalker was burning._

 _Calling medcorp over to her aid, she had ushered Skywalker into a hoverchair and toward the nearest room. They quickly hooked him up to a bag of saline and let him lay down. For the rest of the day, Vokara cursed her inability to see Skywalker had a problem. Obviously, he was incapable of saying outright something was wrong._

 _But perhaps, he did say something._

 _And all that time she was just too stubborn to listen._

Vokara found herself clutching crumpled, ripped pieces of Kaminoan plans in her fists. The space cleared of her daydream, and she was back in Skywalker's abandoned room.

No note.

No message.

Just a missing wheelchair, a rumpled bedspread, and a dangling IV line swaying in the wake of a missing patient.

The last words he said to her were _"I'm so sorry."_

 _No,_ Vokara thought sadly, _I'm the one who needs to be sorry._

She made the bed and left the room.

* * *

Obi-Wan looked around the sparse 'fresher and sighed. Pirates truly were every bit as disgusting as he had remembered.

The floor was covered in mud and sloppy liquids. The sink was tinted green and smelled of vomit. The stalls were small and the toilets overflowing. It was a wonder that he didn't keel over then and there.

"Don't suppose they'll have a sterile bed for me, eh Master?" Anakin joked weakly. Obi-Wan grimaced at the reality.

They had very little materials.

He had only planned on so much: medical supplies, bowel treatments, food, water. He hadn't planned on needing everything down to a clean cot to lay on. Certainly, there was a clean corner somewhere in this dreadful place…

"There is not a single clean corner in this entire place," Anakin deadpanned. He was starting to sweat uncomfortably, a cold sweat breaking out and making his skin tingle _. "Mghk,"_ he grunted as his muscles tightened and spasmed out of his control.

Obi-Wan had read reports on Autonomic Dysreflexic symptoms, but he had never _seen_ the symptoms. It could be anything causing them, though he could take a guess at what it was this time. Going Force knows how long without a bowel treatment was a lead suspect for the source of the discomfort.

And Obi-Wan could fix it.

If he could just find a clean place to set Anakin down.

Gingerly stepping around the disgusting tile floors, Obi-Wan took a wad of what he guessed to be bathroom tissue and laid it across the least-dirty stall. Then another layer of bathroom tissue. Another. And another until the stall was covered in a semi-white bed of snow. Anakin wheeled himself over to Obi-Wan, wheels slipping out from under his grip every now and then.

 _"Kriffing_ pirates," Anakin swore. Obi-Wan didn't bother to harass him. He heartily agreed.

The two men then began the struggle of getting Anakin onto the ground.

"Watch it, Obi-Wan!" Anakin yelped as Obi-Wan nearly slid across the stall, his foot slimed with a mysterious purple substance. Anakin, who was slowly lowering himself with Obi-Wan's grip of the Force felt the sudden lapse of power and hit the ground with a _thud._

Obi-Wan watched in horror as Anakin's eyes slid into the back of his head.

Unconcious.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Ahsoka watched as Rex slowly became more conscious.

His lip was already starting to scab, and his eyes were clearing up from the haze of pain. He still moved very minimally, as if not to disturb his carefully balanced state of healing.

Ahsoka couldn't get the lump out of her throat.

Anakin hadn't received the message. He couldn't have—he would have replied, or broken through the door, or _something_ would have happened instead of this dreadful, aching silence.

She could half-hear the voices in the back of her mind, telling her that Anakin didn't care any longer. She had run away from him, not trusted him. She had hurt him and called him the worst of names through her drinks.

 _Why would he trust her?_

 _Why would he come?_

Suddenly, Rex reached out his hand, weakly linking his fingers through hers. They shook slightly at the effort. Ahsoka looked away, sure that he was going to say something to comfort her. She didn't want his comfort.

She wanted to get them out of there.

Blinking back unwanted tears, Ahsoka looked around the space for the umpteenth time. The dirty window, the ragingly bright sign, the single bed, the shredded sheet, the locked door, the used bullets on the floor, the shattered light all came into view through the darkness. Her hands were still bound, but her feet were free of cuffs. While hers were especially made for blocking the Force, Rex was bound with simple wired rope. If she had her lightsaber, she could have easily sliced through them. Or anything sharp, really. She didn't have the luxury of being picky.

Slowly, Ahsoka pried Rex's hand off of her own and rose from her position at the bedside. Taking a careful lap around the room, she picked through the bits of broken glass from the light fixture. Then, satisfied with her make-shift knife, she directed Rex to hold his hands away from his body, and sawed away at the thick knot.

Rex bit at the insides of his cheek to keep from calling out.

Even the small movements that the slicing caused him to make sent jolts of biting pain up his arms and right to his chest. It squeezed the air out of his lungs, and made his body tremble. Ahsoka gripped his wrists harder in response.

He was already convinced of his death.

But _Force_ was he glad that Ahsoka wasn't going to let him die in bondage.

Of course, Rex always knew he wasn't a free man. He was a servant to the galaxy—a fighting machine engineered to serve generals and commanders who outranked them ten to one, despite them being outnumbered in a larger fashion. He backs away from a fight; he's labeled a turncoat. He underperforms; he gets stuck with a mop in his hand for the rest of his miserable life. There was no option but to achieve, battle, until that was all one ever knew or wanted.

Not a slave.

A brother.

That's what they were told too, weren't they? A brother isn't born into bondage to be with and fight with his brothers. He does because their family. He doesn't need a choice because there isn't a need for one.

And there is no one to blame.

Not even yourself.

Because your brothers are all fighting for the same reasons.

And fighting means losing siblings.

But it also means gaining siblings.

 _Maybe something more._

Rex was shaken from his thoughts as the rope that had been chafing his wrists for the last miserable days in the room snapped free, and fell to the floor.

 _Free._

"I'll work on your ankles if you angle yourself a little more to the left," Ahsoka instructed gently. Rex bit back a moan as he did as he was told. The shifting fabric burned against his healing wounds. Ahsoka apologized quietly.

Her voice was hoarse, Rex realized suddenly.

Ahsoka's voice…

He remembered slowly, the gears churning clumsily in his brain, that she had screamed for help hours beforehand. He had slipped in and out of sleep due to his body's apparent exhaustion. She had kicked at the thick glass window, shoved herself against the unforgivable metal door. He couldn't place how long she had cried out, only that every time his eyes were open, she was desperately trying to break out of the hellhole.

"I'm warning you," Ahsoka said, nudging his bare foot. "I'm going to start."

"Star _ff_ ," Rex croaked. "I'll barely _ff_ eel i _ff._ "

Ahsoka didn't laugh.

And why should she?

He wasn't funny.

She worked at his bindings for the next eternity while Rex squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out his nerves painful paranoia. He swore he barely took a breath for the entirety of the ordeal.

Then it was done, and Ahsoka let the dulled piece of glass drop to the floor. She returned to her spot at his bedside, settling in just enough so that he could see her face. Her hands were bloody. Rex wasn't sure if it was from him, or if it was from the broken glass.

"I wish…" Ahsoka started, watching Rex's gaze carefully. "I wish I could cut through my own cuffs." She said it with menace, with self-loathing.

He didn't understand.

"They're preventative. I can't use the Force," Ahsoka tried to clarify. Rex only ground his eyebrows together and frowned. "What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

"No _ff_ ing's _prevenffative_. You're _Ahsoka FFano,_ " Rex declared. Ahsoka scoffed, pushing herself off of the bed to pace the room again.

 _"Ahsoka Tano._ _She's_ why _you're_ stuck in here, _dying,_ in the first place!"

It was Rex's turn to scoff. He pulled his weak arms underneath him, raising his face from the bedspread, and agonizingly slow, propped himself up from the bed. He let his eyes glide determinedly around the room.

Ahsoka was back to jiggling the door handle.

"Shu _ff_ up."

Ahsoka whipped around to meet his eyes.

 _"What?"_ Ahsoka's hand slid off of the knob.

"I said shu _ff_ up!" Rex roared. His tongue slid along his chipped teeth, bloodied hands finding themselves in fists. His chest heaved. "Shu _ff_ up and _ff_ ink!"

Ahsoka was speechless.

" _Ff_ at's right. I said i _ff._ I'm dying, Ahsoka. Anakin can' _ff_ find us. 'Da council's given up on us. _Everyone's giffen up on us._ You can' _ff_ _giffe_ up on us _ff_ oo."

Rex waited until the words sunk in.

"Don' _ff_ _ff_ ell me _ff_ at a kriffing pair of cuffs is keeping us stranded."

Ahsoka's eyes drifted downward. Her trembling hands were clasped together, cuffed together, nails bitten down to the quick, gloves drenched in dried blood. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry, Rex," was all that she could muster. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have gotten up. You'll split open your wounds."

He snorted, letting his raging agony only fuel his anger. "Heal or don' _ff_ heal. 'Ll die in here anyway."

Ahsoka sucked in a breath.

"You think I'm not trying? Do you think I want to give up? I _am_ trying, Rex, I _tried! It's useless! I'm_ useless without the Force!"

"Shu _ff_ up!" Rex growled again. Ahsoka pressed on, her voice lilting in fury.

"Don't you tell me to shut up! I can't get us out! I can't get myself free! I can't even call to Anakin for help! It's over, Rex! _I'm done!"_

 _"Shuff up!"_ Rex cried, yes, cried was the right word. Angry, disappointed tears fell freely down his face. The salt made the cuts on his face sting.

Shoulders heaving, Ahsoka turned around and grasped the door knob. This time, she did not try and open the door. She only stared at her hands.

Rex gritted his teeth until he was sure that he had sanded them down to nubs. He turned his face away, watching the sign flicker through the warped glass.

 _"'The Separatists may have taken my ability to walk, but they couldn't take away my ability to fight,"_ the sign proclaimed brashly. Rex watched it until he had the image imprinted permanently behind his eyelids.

 _Of course it didn't,_ Rex thought. _He's General Skywalker._

He let his eyes slide shut, and his body drop back down to the bedspread. His biceps ached from the effort to keep himself upright.

 _Is this how it feels?_ Rex asked himself. _To be paralyzed?_

They were trapped. Stripped of their abilities and their plans. Possibly their future. They had no one to come get them. Each hour was a constant battle of whether to live on and face the next second, next second, next second…

They were paralyzed.

 _But had it taken their ability to fight?_

Rex shot up from the mattress, letting loose strangled laugh. He quickly located Ahsoka, who was curled up by the door, head in her bound hands. He had solved it. This wasn't some cage with locked doors and impenetrable windows. It was a maze. There was a roof, not barbed wire. There was shingles, wood, insulation, not cement and metal bars.

"Blow the roo _f_ o _ff_!"

Ahsoka laughed mournfully. "I don't want to joke right now."

"I'm serious, Commander! This is i _ff_! You blow the roof off, and we're free," he encouraged, watching as Ahsoka slowly unfurled from her position. "And we'll go back. We'll make every _ff_ ing all right. Make Dooku pay."

"How?" Ahsoka demanded. "I can't use the Force!"

"Do the handcuffs do that? Or your mind?"

There was silence. It crept coldly through the room, reaching Rex's heart quickly. _Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh, maybe he was wrong, maybe—_

"Take cover," Ahsoka deadpanned, standing up and dusting off her skirt.

Rex pushed himself into the sitting position, wincing slightly, but not uttering a sound for fear of breaking the determination that had settled in the darkness. Quickly, he limped toward Ahsoka.

"I said take cover," Ahsoka insisted. Rex shrugged.

"You're as safe as it gets."

She hardly smiled, only lifted her hands to the roof, to the broken light, to the inevitable sky. She planted her feet, some ancient Jedi stance that Rex was sure had never looked so good on any other Jedi in history. Then, with a twist of her wrist, drywall started to crumble.

Sweat glistened on her forehead.

"You can do this," Rex whispered in awe of the strong woman in front of him. _"You can do this."_ Ahsoka pushed him to his knees, positioning herself to block him from harm's way. Rex placed his arms over his head and neck.

She lashed out, hands posed to destroy.

And the ceiling tumbled down around them.

As the dust settled, Rex gradually looked around. His eyes hardly adjusted to the brighter surroundings of the Undercity, he saw the bewildered, wandering scumbag civilians stop in their tracks.

She had destroyed the entire motel.

All that was left standing was a toasted pair of cuffs, and _thank the Force,_ two _alive_ soldiers of the Republic—Ahsoka, and himself.

He stood up in wonder, and in one solid motion, he gripped Ahsoka's dusty face and kissed her on the lips.

The whole world faded behind their consciousness.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Obi-Wan held Anakin's unconscious form close to his chest, hand still poised against Anakin's cheek, when the pirates walked in. They surrounded the stalls sneering and catcalling at the supposed scene unfolding before them.

Obi-Wan's cheeks were hot with shame.

"Oi, there, Mister Jedi. What a gal you've got there!" one pirate jeered. Another elbowed him hard in the gut, and he went tumbling over.

"Mind sharin' a bit, eh, Mister Jedi, sir?" another pirate cooed.

Obi-Wan raised a patient eyebrow, waiting out the pirate's taunts. _They wouldn't dare touch either of them,_ he thought confidently. _They know how Hondo would react when the news reached his prying ears._

Still, his stomach somersaulted at the crude charades the pirates acted out.

Anakin stirred in his arms: first a flutter of eyelashes, then a hand to brush invisible strands of hair away from his face, then a gasp and cough from the smell. Anakin scuttled out of Obi-Wan's arms like a shot, head gripped in his hands.

 _Thank the Force,_ Obi-Wan thought with a sigh of relief. _Yet another day alive with Anakin Skywalker._

The pirates slunk away as Anakin started to shout obscenities at whoever's eyes met his bare legs. Obi-Wan didn't dare stop him; he didn't need to be on the receiving end of any of those threats.

 _"Force_ , I hate this _kriffing—"_ Anakin started in again after the last pirate fled out the door. Obi-Wan held up a calming hand.

"No need to get angry at the _kriffing_ anything," he soothed. "Let's finish this first. May I look at your head?"

Anakin slid back over to Obi-Wan, guided by the homemade tissue carpet, then leaned in so that his former Master could see clearly. His hair was mottled with specks of blood, but it didn't look new…in fact, it looked terribly old. _From the floor then,_ Obi-Wan decided promptly.

Then letting the pads of his fingers grace around the crown of his head, Obi-Wan declared him _"one of the luckiest men he's ever known"_ when it comes to surviving injuries, and guided him down to the floor.

Obi-Wan was efficient.

Anakin, for the first time, was instrumental in the procedure, holding when told to and stimulating when prompted (unwillingly, but nevertheless). He was nearly onto the toilet when another round of pirates entered the 'fresher.

"Honestly, Master!" Anakin groaned, swiftly tugging his tunic over himself. "I swear if one more pirate tells me—"

He was cut off by a gruff laugh.

 _Hondo himself._

Obi-Wan cleared his throat cautiously. It seemed safe enough to assume that whatever Hondo had heard, it definitely consisted of something offensive. Therefore, it asked for the upmost attention to be courteous. Or, at least, as courteous as one could be conversing in the 'fresher.

Hondo lazily swirled a plait around his bony finger. "I knew I could trust my good Jedi friends. Now, here, my men were telling me you've gone off and—"

"We were doing no such things, I can assure you," Obi-Wan quickly interjected, furious at the pirates and his own embarrassment. "Simply performing a necessary treatment of the day. No harm done."

"You've lost one of your own men, I see," Hondo stated passively. Obi-Wan whirled around, eyes wide. He'd barely noticed Leo had fallen behind.

"I'm sure he'll find us again," Anakin said through gritted teeth. "Now, if you _excuse_ us." His eyes screamed _get out,_ but Hondo must have read _come closer._ Obi-Wan watched as Anakin's face flushed pink.

Hondo leaned into the stall. Obi-Wan stood up defensively.

"This is quite enough," he coughed pointedly. Hondo smiled.

"I meant what I said earlier, you know: I knew a good man. Full of promise and potential. He was confined to a wheelchair, too, for the rest of his…of his short life. It would be my honor if you accept my invitation."

"What invitation?" Anakin spat.

Hondo smiled slowly, his crooked teeth unveiling themselves in all their glory. "An invitation to walk."

And all of a sudden, Hondo was pinned against the 'fresher's grimy wall, hands clasped around his neck. His eyes bulged and his feet kicked helplessly.

Obi-Wan massaged his temples. "That is quite enough, Anakin."

Hondo dropped to the ground.

"How can you say something like that, you scum?" Anakin hissed, adjusting himself as if he was going to charge after Hondo himself. "Doesn't your conscience bother you at all to talk to someone like me like that?"

Hondo sucked in a deep, ragged breath. "My conscience is the exact reason I stand before you right now, on my own, without you two in chains."

Obi-Wan blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You understand me fine," Hondo scoffed. "That man denied my help just the same. He said he had an easier way out than hard work or machinery. I didn't realize then he meant…" He trailed off, his fingers fluttering around his neck uncertainly.

Anakin's hands slammed against the walls of the stall. It shuddered. "I'm not your friend, alright Hondo? I'm denying your help, but not because I have some _crazy death wish_ , okay? I'm _over_ my injury: I know nothing's going to help, so let me be _kriffing_ alone in my misery and for _Force's sake_ leave us alone!"

Both men watched Hondo get up from the ground. He dusted off his frock, straightened his helmet, and pointed at the pair. "You've made your decision. Now it's my move."

The pirates standing in the background of the conversation seized their chance in the action, grappling with Obi-Wan as he struggled to get out of their strong grasp. Then, as Obi-Wan was forced onto his knees, his head pinned down by a pirate's hold on his hair, they grinned and waggled their fingers at Anakin's helpless position.

"Hello, Mister Jedi, sir! Welcome to hell!" The pirates cheered.

Anakin shut his eyes tight as they clapped handcuffs on his wrists and on his neck. They didn't bother with his legs, which Anakin decided was somewhat offensive.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to fight back.

As he was stuffed unceremoniously back into his wheelchair, barely clothed and shivering, Anakin growled as a pirate's hand found its way down the back of his tunic.

"Do not underestimate me," he hissed, flinching out of the wandering finger's reach. The pirate chuckled.

"'Ss all right, Mister Jedi. I _like_ mine feisty."

The men were dragged from the 'fresher, and down, down into the dungeons.

* * *

Padmé paced around her room, the servants jittery all around her. Some held long sashes, others held pallets of make-up, and others still metal contraptions she would be fitted in to the latest fashions of the galaxy.

That is, if she would sit still for a moment.

She was invited back—a miracle in and of itself—to speak of the war efforts and propaganda going out into the Republic-supporting planets. To speak about Anakin Skywalker, the injured war-hero turned sob-story.

Her husband.

She went over her notes again, eyes gliding over the symbols until all she saw was meaningless lines and dots. She was ready; of course she was ready. She'd been practicing for days now…

 _When was the last time she had seen Anakin?_

The thought continually interrupted her life, stopping her dead in her tracks.

She had gotten the news of him going missing along with Master Kenobi and a young clone. She had all but tackled that emotionless medic, ready to strangle her if that was what it took to get more information. It was clear there was no extra intelligence on the subject.

Not only that, but the news was going berserk.

A hotel in the inner city was blown up, a terrorist attack according to the reporters. The Separatists were hitting too close to home for Padmé's liking: a few layers of the planet later, and it could have hit the capital.

It sent shivers down her spine.

Shaking herself out of her incessant thoughts, Padmé ran over her speech again. The servants plucked at the sleeves of her nightgown, pleading with her to sit still, let them dress her, make her face, do her hair. She ignored them.

It had to be perfect.

So immersed was Padmé in her work that she nearly ignored the alarms blaring, and the servants scattering around her. She looked up from her page, reality closing in fast.

She was under attack.

Jumping into action, Padmé dropped her speech and ran for her bed, whereupon she tossed her silk pillow aside for her gun. Then, crouching behind her bedframe, she waited.

Her servants waved silently for her to follow them into the escape tunnels. With a shake of her head, she dismissed them to leave without her.

She would stand her ground.

Seconds later, the doorknob was tried. After the attackers jiggled the metal handle to no avail, she heard them start at the door with force. She watched with an amazed horror as the plaster of her ceiling started to crack. Fine dust fell daintily to the floor all around her.

Then the door flew free of it's hinges, slamming against the other side of the room with such a great amount of power that it tipped her make-up stand over, smashing her mirror into microscopic bits.

Padmé held her gun at the ready.

The attackers stumbled in, one leaning heavily on the other. They looked like monsters—ungroomed, dirty faces with bloody gashes and purple splotches covering their bodies, their torsos wrapped like mummified corpses. Padmé bit her lip in determination as her assassins looked her way.

She fired.

It struck the first attacker solidly, though it did not knock it down. In fact, it only approached faster, dragging its bloody friend alongside of it.

Padmé fired again, and missed.

She cursed, steadying her hands and clutched the trigger—

"Please, Padmé! Don't shoot!" The attacker dropped to her knees (it was a girl, Padmé assumed) and lowered her partner with her. Her hands were trembling. "It's Ahsoka, please, I swear its Ahsoka Tano. Your husband's late padawan."

Padmé's blaster dropped loudly onto the tile floor.

Without saying a word, Padmé crossed the space between her and Ahsoka, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could barely catch her breath.

"Ahsoka? Oh, oh thank the Force, we've been _terrified!_ What happened? Were you captured?"

Ahsoka nodded weakly. "It's all my fault. I never should have taken Rex with me."

Padmé's eyes glided over to the mottled person lying next to Ahsoka.

 _It couldn't be Captain Rex.ˆ_

"Is he—?" Padmé didn't wait for the answer. She gripped the limp man's neck, reading for a pulse carefully, listening for the distinct sound of breathing. Ahsoka nodded, hand still entwined with the Captain's.

"He's alive, Padmé. Barely alive. Dooku…" Ahsoka trailed off eyes wandering over Rex's crudely wrapped injuries. "He need help. Fast."

"How did you get here? And why here? He needs the Halls of Healing and—"

"No!" Ahsoka cried, reaching out to grip Padmé's shoulders fervently. "No, they'll kill him! He's a traitor, a turncoat, for all they know or care. They'll finish him off without a second thought. You…you can save him, though. I know you will find a way."

Padmé nodded solemnly. "Well, then help me get the Captain onto the bed."

"I can't."

Padmé looked up, confused. "What?"

"I have to go."

Padmé couldn't hide her frown. "I have lost too many people I love in a very short amount of time. Forgive me for saying I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Ahsoka wrung her hands. "I-I have to go after Dooku. I have to do this on my own. You won't understand why."

"Try me."

"I'm sorry, Padmé. Take care of Rex, _please."_

"Ahsoka Tano, you are not leaving this room!" Padmé roared. Ahsoka snagged Padmé's blaster from the tile.

"I will use this," Ahsoka threatened. "Padmé, I _have_ to go."

"No, no, you have to stay! The Republic needs strong women like us fighting together, _not_ alone on some revenge mission." Ahsoka paled at the word revenge. Padmé pressed on. "I know that's what you're doing, Ahsoka. Revenge is not the Jedi way; we will bring Dooku to justice—"

"The Jedi way isn't fast enough!" Ahsoka screamed, her throat raw and passionate. "And…and if the Jedi are too blind to see that, then I'm ashamed to be called a Jedi."

Padmé stumbled back, arms still wrapped around Rex's torso. "You don't mean that—" She grasped for Ahsoka's wrist.

"Let me go, Padmé!"

Padmé heard the gun shot go off before she felt the effects. Her body fell limp, her head lolling next to the Captain's own bandaged skull. As her eyes slid shut, she watched in silence as Ahsoka bent to kiss Rex's forehead, and ran out of the room.

Before Padmé could process all that had happened, she lost consciousness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Leo was barely conscious, but slowly his surroundings appeared muddled before him. If he had been out long, he wasn't aware of it. In fact, as his heavy-lidded eyes started to slide closed again, Leo wished he hadn't woken up at all. He was sore; the swollen stump that used to be his arm thudded angrily against his side, and his feet ached from overuse. In a fit of sudden but wholly unnecessary rage, Leo reached down and peeled both of his boots off, tossing them carelessly across the hallway.

He was, Leo realized, in the exact place Obi-Wan and Anakin had left him.

His heart caught in his throat. _They didn't come back._

 _How long had it been? What had happened?_

Pressing a clammy hand against the cold metal wall, Leo inched up to a standing position. The haphazard crates around him shielded him from view; the hallway was still in disarray from Anakin's fit. He ran a hand across his face, rubbing hard to wake himself up. He _had_ to find them. He was in enemy territory, and nowhere was safe. So he pushed himself off of the wall's support, and walked on.

Every step was pain, but he let it fuel his stride. His pale feet slapped against the sleek ship's floors.

 _He didn't have his boots_.

Sighing, Leo turned around and walked back, picking up his boots and slinging them over his shoulder.

Just then, noises started to echo around the hallway. Leo tensed, slamming himself back amongst the crates. The voices, clamoring, and distinct clink of chains grew louder. Leo swallowed breathlessly, palming his lips to keep himself quiet.

"Never thunk I'd be draggin' _Jedi_ with me own two paws," a pirate bragged, and chains jostled louder. Leo's eyes widened. "Not funny, mister Jedi? That's too bad."

A slap thundered in Leo's ears.

A soft moan.

The group moves slowly, until Leo can just see over the tops of the crates five heads: two pirate thugs, Captain Hondo, General Kenobi, and General Skywalker. The generals are both chained, Kenobi in a collar that crackles with electricity, Skywalker held down with an unrelenting grip in his tangled mop of hair. Drops of blood trickle down the side of General Kenobi's forehead; a sight that makes Leo's stomach sick.

 _What had gone wrong?_

As the posse of Jedi and pirates got dragged away, Leo slunk back down behind the crates, feeling as if he had been torn in two. In his only hand, he held a trembling blaster.

 _"I can't just…"_ Leo started to whisper, but trailed off when a pirate cocked his ear toward him. _He couldn't just run after them, fire until his anger was satisfied, then expect to get off the ship alive._ He had to be tactful. Deadly. Precise.

No mistakes allowed.

Leo shoved his blaster in the loop around his belt and settled into a crouch. When the coast was clear, he took off down the hallway after his Generals.

He left his boots behind.

He would be quieter without them.

* * *

Obi-Wan kept his mouth closed.

Blood slowly dribbled down his cheek and into his beard, smelling bitter and strong. The cuffs around his wrists restrained most of his movements to wipe it away, along with the rough-skinned fingers tearing at his hair. And while Obi-Wan was never opposed to playing the part of the mouthy prisoner, there were other variables this time. Variables like Anakin.

The Skywalker Obi-Wan had known for years wouldn't have hung his head that way, no matter the chains or defeat hanging around him.

Strands of crimson-dried locks dangled in front of Anakin's face, shielding most of his expression from Obi-Wan's view. His legs were sloppily dragging across the floor, since the pirates didn't care to adjust them onto the wheelchair's rightful footholds. A piece of tissue still clung to Anakin's side which was rather unnerving for Obi-Wan, though he did have enough sense not to reach over and pluck it off for him.

Obi-Wan looked away from Anakin only to find Hondo's eyes boring a hole into his young companion. With a hand, he stopped the entourage, and with another, he flicked Anakin's cheek.

"What's wrong, Skywalker? Where's that _usual cheek?"_ He flicked Anakin again. _"Aw,_ don't be _so sad,_ Mister Skywalker. Our cells are accommodating!"

Anakin turned his face away, but did not say a word.

So Hondo continued to flick. "You know, my friend was silent before he took his own life. Didn't speak to anyone for a week, two weeks even. He blocked out the world, let it simmer without him, as he wallowed in his self-pity. I tried to reason with him, but it is relatively difficult to reason with a brick wall."

Then, Hondo spit a glob of rotten saliva onto his lip, letting it dribble down his chin before it landed with a disgusting _smack_ into Anakin's lap.

"You chose wrong, Anakin Skywalker. My conscience won't let me just ignore what I know is wrong. Especially when it comes to my _friends."_ Hondo emphasized the word as if it was meaningful, wiping the spit off his face and smearing it on Anakin's tunic. Anakin's only response was a dip of shoulder, head faced away from the crowd.

 _No fight. No snarky remarks. Pure indifference._

Obi-Wan took three measured breaths.

Because for all the grace of the Jedi, he still had the mouth of a merchant.

"Hondo, you can't be serious," Obi-Wan started, straightening his head and ignoring the pulsing flavor against his tongue. Shamelessly, he prodded with the Force to convince their captors. "Dragging us into prison, the chains, this death grip in my hair, is all absolutely, unnecessarily _hostile._ You are not correcting anything—you're making it _worse_. We _are_ your friends _,_ Hondo, but this is ludicrous. You have nothing to fear. Whatever old grudge you've developed won't resolve itself simply because you're locking up—"

A fist connected with Obi-Wan's temple, scattering his suggestion and cutting his speech short. His reflexes tucked his head into his chest to prevent another blow from finding its target.

Then, Hondo leaned in so close that Obi-Wan could smell his rotting gums. "I gave him a _deal._ He's made up his mind, and so have I." Then, he retreated and Obi-Wan sucked in the suddenly fresh air surrounding him. "It's _my turn_ to decide what is worth fearing."

* * *

 _Padmé saw him._

 _His hair was long and half-pulled up, just like he had asked her to do when he was fixing his chair, the difference being the wheelchair was nonexistent. His arms were open, both hands tanned and healthy as if the mechno never existed. The cream cloak that swung around his shoulders seemed soft and light, inviting and menacing at the same time. She approached him slowly, sure and unsure, calm and frightened. There were no scars. He stood tall and uninhibited._

 _They were alone._

 _No, they were together._

 _Padmé couldn't move forward any more. She planted her feet, staring at him with an unabashed gaze. Her lips trembled, and she covered her mouth with her palm to keep from crying out. He was right in front of her, so close to her that she could smell the sandalwood scent clinging to him._

 _"C'mere, Angel," he said, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. What was fair about that? Padmé loved that smile—her heart ached for that smile when he was away—and it never waivered. Her feet felt light as she picked up her brown shift and closed the distance between them, flinging her arms around him and sinking into him. "There," he said as he folded her into his embrace, pressing her to his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head. "This is where I should be."_

 _"I've been so scared," Padmé sobbed, burying her face into his tunic. It wasn't much use to hold it in any longer. He never snubbed her need for tears. He just rubbed circles into her back, tangled his hands in her hair, and never asked for an explanation. All Padmé could return was squeezing his waist closer to herself. "You just disappeared."_

 _"Not entirely," he teased, his breath whispering against her forehead. "C'mon then, my cloak is clean. Wipe your tears." Padmé choked out a sorry excuse for laughter, taking the folds of the fabric and bunching it in her fists._

 _She felt whole again._

 _"You're hair is down," he said, breath tickling her scalp. She shrugged. "I like it. It suits you."_

 _"You look so handsome!" Padmé countered, tucking his hair behind his ears and catching a long look at his face. "You've shaved!—did you do that on your own, or did Obi-Wan finally give in and shave for you?"_

 _He laughed. "You wanted me to shave."_

 _"I never told you I did!"_

 _"But you did want me to shave, right? And to wear light colors?"_

 _"Y-yes, but my love doesn't depend on what you look like—it never has—and if that's why you left, because you thought you weren't good enough for me with your shaggy hair and scars and paralysis, that's absolutely kriffing—"_

 _"Easy on me, Angel. That's not why I left," he cooed, running his hands through her hair. For some reason, it didn't comfort her like it usually did._

 _This was what she wanted, right?_

 _Him being healed and content, here in her arms, talking sweetly in her ear as the surrounding breeze whipped at their entwined bodies. They wouldn't have to separate again, because he was hers to keep. No Jedi Council, no Healers or medic, no Masters or Padawans: no one to hide from or fear if their secret was exposed. They could be together without consequences, sleep with no nightmares, and wake up the next morning tangled together and they wouldn't have to scramble away to quell their separate guilt. No lies or deception. She wouldn't have to share him with an unforgiving galaxy that expected so much of him._

 _The picture of happiness._

 _Yet, what had always brought them together, exhausted and frustrated, was the chaotic life they lived. The injuries gave them desperate contentment, and every victory gave them a reason to celebrate. The rules gave their actions meaning, and the meetings became ever the more precious. Distance made their hearts yearn for each other, and the missions and conferences made the greatest stories when they finally reunited._

 _Perfection wasn't what made them happy._

 _"You shouldn't have left. You were healing," Padmé scolded, pushing him away from her body and watching him with a sick satisfaction as he stumbled backward. Perfection wasn't what she wanted from him. She wanted his flaws and problems; she wanted to be with him. The real Anakin. "You can't do this to the people you love. Master Healer Che won't go looking for you because she's already spent so much money, the media has already declared you suicidal and delusional, and the Jedi Council won't give funds or men to search. Now Ahsoka's after Count Dooku by herself, and Rex is dying on my bedroom floor—" She looked up, her eyes wide and frightened. "Rex is dying on my floor."_

 _"It's alright if you have to go." He was gentle, reaching out to pull her close again. She let her hands drift up to frame his face, anger forgotten in a moment of panic._

 _"I don't want to leave you." Her voice was strained. He held her hands against his smooth cheeks, eyes closed. She couldn't remember a time he looked more peaceful in her arms, his soft smile made her heart quake with what she was about to do._

 _"You know I'm not really here, Angel," he said. Padmé shook her head._

 _"I need you to be here," she admitted. "I'm so lost, I'll ruin everything if you don't come back."_

 _"I've always needed you more than you've needed me. I love you, Padmé; I need you to not give up on me."_

 _The peace started to fade. Padmé watched wide-eyed as he flickered before her. "Wait! No, don't go yet," Padmé clutched his face, afraid to let go. "I need to know where you are—do you look like this? Or is this only in a dream?"_

 _He took her hands off of his face. "Do you want to see?"_

 _"Yes," Padmé breathed, stepping away from him as he shivered and grunted, body thinning and contorting until he sat with his head hung low, hair greasy and covered in dried blood. His legs were mangled and poorly taken care of, hanging off of his chair at an inhumane angle. His face was swollen and his tunic was crooked. His hands were chained together, and his neck was collared and sizzling with electricity._

 _"I look better in your dreams," he croaked, cracking a pained smile. Padmé swallowed her scream she had in her throat as his hair was ripped back by an invisible force, rendering his throat prone. "I will do anything—" he swallowed hard, pressing forward in his speech. "—to get home to you. Whatever it takes."_

 _"I know," Padmé whispered, thousands of emotions making her limps weak and her eyes water. "I know you will. Just tell me where you are, I'll find you—"_

And Padmé snapped awake, sore and groggy from her own gun's blast.

"No, no, no!" Padmé cried, scrambling to sit up. The dream had disappeared, and Padmé feared that it was gone for good. If it was from the Force, or more importantly from Anakin, she must've asked the wrong questions. Classically, Padmé was too wrapped up in her own emotions to realize the hints. Now that she was awake, the dream and its details were already fading.

 _"I've always needed you more than you've needed me. I love you, Padmé; I need you to not give up on me."_

He said that. She _believed_ it.

So she shook off the uncomfortable sleep and let her hair down, looking around her. The room was in shambles, ceiling crumbling and spraying the occasional shower of dust. Her servants must have scattered at some point and had not returned, their tunnel system quiet and abandoned.

And Rex.

Rex's chest rose and fell so softly it made Padmé's own heart flutter in fear. His forehead seemed smashed in, bloodied and poorly wrapped in white. She never let go of his pulse against his neck as she studied his legs, chest, arms, and face. He was stripped down to his thin, black boxers, then slid carefully onto one of her bed sheets. Despite how thin he had gotten over the last weeks, Padmé didn't dare lift him alone. Instead, she dragged the sheet across her floor until she reached the secret tunnel's entrance. With a heave, she pried the grate off, hustled it back to her bed, and leaned it carefully against the frame.

Then Padmé grasped the sheet again and pulled Rex over to her makeshift loading dock, starting the slow incline up the grate and onto the bed. Rex barely stirred, grunting only once when he hit the angle of the grate. Padmé stood on her comforter, pulling hand over hand on the sheet until finally Rex was flopped horizontally across her bed.

Padmé wiped her forehead.

 _There wasn't much time._

It was another ten minutes before her room was flooded with guards and medics, all handling her and checking her for shock or evidence of her attackers. She feigned many injuries, complaining of everything from major concussion to stab wounds to internal bleeding. With the amount of blood on her, the medics didn't argue much as they unloaded and sorted supplies from their carts. Padmé watched carefully, taking note which bandages they reached for when she spouted the injury.

Then she 'fainted.'

Flopping dramatically onto the floor, Padmé swooned and covered her face with the crook of her arm. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the whole room tilted in her direction, whether that be guard, investigator, medic, or servant.

No attention on her bed.

Then, swinging her arm around, she let her gun blast at whoever was closest, knocking down the crowd until bodies littered the floor like a massacre.

She didn't stop until the last guard's eyes slid closed.

Carefully stepping around her handiwork, Padmé made her way back to the bed where Rex lay hidden behind a layer of drama and well-placed curtains. Placing her trigger finger on the edge of his jaw, Padmé made the same promise.

 _Whatever it takes._

Just as she reached Rex's chin, she heard a moan.

"Only if you're ready, Rex," Padmé assured. She rested her hand on his cheek, a mirror of how she held Anakin in her dream.

It took twenty-seven seconds.

"'M 'conscious."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

One quick note: sorry. I've been...preoccupied with a busted arm. Worried? Nah, didn't think so.

This was primarily typed one-handed. Be amazed.

* * *

Anakin's head snapped up, seemingly fully conscious.

Obi-Wan couldn't help but snort at the irony of the situation. No later than fifteen counted seconds after the pirates had wrenched their cell door open, had chained the two Jedi to the unforgiving floor, confiscated Anakin's wheelchair, and had slammed the lock on tight, Anakin Skywalker was revived. The Force, Obi-Wan was certain of it now, had a _terrible_ sense of humor.

The pirate's were half way down the hall, Hondo in the lead, when Anakin's groggy eyes flicked over his cell once, and he had shouted pitifully:

"I'll do it!"

The footsteps stop echoing around the jail.

"I'll do the training," Anakin cried, half way between desperation and forceful negotiation. "Or whatever the _kark_ you're planning. I want to walk again—Force knows how much I do—but I'm, I-I can't just, it's not as easy as saying—I've _tried_. I've tried hard, and nothing has worked."

Hondo's face reappeared in the small window of their cell, his expression unreadable. "Go on."

Obi-Wan was speechless. _How had those words transitioned them from inmates to friends again?_

Anakin's voice quavered. "I want to learn. I'm ready."

If Obi-Wan wasn't shell-shocked by the entire scene, he might've thought Anakin was acting abnormally docile. If he wasn't so disoriented by the pulsing waves of Force that ebbed away as they spoke, he might have realized the white-knuckled grip on Anakin's legs, the deliberate glance across the room.

Even in chains, Anakin was the stubborn, haughty Jedi that Separatists and Council members loved to hate. Whoever this was…certainly wasn't the Anakin he was used to seeing in bondage.

Hondo cracked an unusually friendly smile. "You," he said, motioning to an unseen pirate. "Get this man out and take off the cuffs and inhibitors. Also, pull up his pants." Condescension. Thick and bleeding over every word.

Anakin flushed a deep pink. "My training starts now, if you please." And he wiggled both hands, which were suddenly freed from their cuffs. Obi-Wan blanched. It wasn't some trick of his eyes—Anakin had picked the locks while he pleaded for mercy.

"Anakin, wait!" Obi-Wan was a second too late. The charged collar around Anakin's neck was activated, and he tensed before collapsing on the floor, teeth clenched against the onslaught of electricity.

 _"Idiots,"_ Anakin hissed, stifling a sob as the collar jolted again. "I need my _kriffing_ hands to sit up."

The collar was deactivated.

Anakin spluttered, rolling unsteadily onto his side to let strings of saliva dribble down his chin. The cell door cracked open, and two pirates slid through, grabbing Anakin under his armpits and hoisting him into the air, legs dangling underneath him. Cursing all the while, the pirates dragged him out the door, sat him down in his wheelchair, and slammed the door shut once again.

Obi-Wan lost physical sight of him then, so pulling at the chains as far as he dared, he called: "Anakin, whatever happens—"

But Anakin was already responding to Obi-Wan's attempt at delivering courage. "Master, I can handle this! The Force is with me!"

The phrase _"Force is with me"_ swam around the halls long after the lights went out, and Obi-Wan was left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

"I have a bad feeling about this," Anakin mumbled as soon as he was out of earshot from Obi-Wan, throat still raw and tender but not in enough pain for him to stay quiet. The pirates around him snickered as they slapped the cuffs back around his wrists.

"Oh, I'd be worried if you _didn't,"_ one pirate commented. Anakin rolled his eyes, letting the quiver of fear make his head clearer. He was in enemy territory, behind enemy lines. Whatever he did here affected Obi-Wan, and maybe even Leo…wherever he was.

And Padmé.

So his Plan A had failed. No matter, Plan B was just as good.

The penitent-Jedi-trying-to-stall-for-as-long-as-he-could-so-he-could-get-his -locks-picked was classic—no wonder Hondo had shot him up good with electricity. He was being predictable. This time, he'd border insanity. He'd defy the odds, break all the rules, and come out on top.

He'd walk.

Force help him, he would. And he would watch the jaws around him drop as he'd ignite his lightsaber and cut them down one by one. He'd let them know what happens when you get between the best pilot in the Outer Rim, General of the 501st battalion, the Jedi Knight, and Chosen One of the galaxy and his friends.

But first, he had to tie his hair back.

With a little give, he managed to tear off a bit of his soiled tunic, though the pirates eyed him suspiciously. A little more finagling and he had a useable band. When he reached above his head to tie it back, he felt the collar ignite.

"Easy, now," Anakin said, and he could almost see the spines on Hondo's chin bristle. He chose his next words carefully, thinking of what Obi-Wan might say. "I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? Just tying my hair up."

And with painstakingly slow motions, the pirates let him. It was difficult, seeing as he had about three centimeters of slack between his hands, but with a solid amount of effort, the top half of Anakin's scraggly hair was out of his face and sticking out of a lopsided bun.

It felt heavenly, though it itched at his scalp, and cause a pang of homesickness for Padmé's caring hands.

As if on cue, a pirate shoved Anakin's hands down from above his head and back into his lap, another yanking the collection of hair in mockery. Wrinkled fingers made their way down the side of his cheek, down his neck, over his chest.

"What pretty hair, Mister Jedi!"

"My, my! As sweet as my girl back home!"

"And look at him tense!"

The pirate's taunts got under his skin more than he liked to admit, but thinking of Obi-Wan sobered up his selfish blush. He relaxed his shoulders and his hands that he didn't realize were white-knuckled fists. They couldn't touch him, not with what he stood for now. He was their past back to haunt them. A mistake, a regret they didn't know they could fix. He was their second chance at whittling away their guilty consciences.

Never mind the tough outer shells of the pirates.

Their hearts were as heavy as anyone's.

As the pirate behind him gave his wheelchair an unnecessary shove, Anakin let himself fall forward—a simple reminder no one buckled him into the wheelchair.

 _Let's see how far guilt can tame them,_ Anakin thought.

He pitched out of the wheelchair with a yelp, hitting first with his kneecaps, then his left shoulder. His chains jangled as he rolled, dramatically flailing and hugging his arm.

 _"Ow,"_ Anakin wheezed. "What the heck, Hondo?"

The pirates swarmed, all looking helplessly, sheepishly at their leader. They sat Anakin up, holding him upright by a fist on his neck. One tried to peel away his shirtsleeve to take a look at his flesh arm, but Anakin held it tight to his chest, and punched at anyone who tried first aid procedures. The pirates started to grumble, though quietly, as to not let Hondo hear their complaints.

Hondo stood frowning at the scene.

"You wanted your lesson to come early, my friend? Well, it starts _now,"_ Hondo said, his voice deep and dangerous. "Get up."

"I need my hands." Anakin wiggled his hands so that the chains jangled annoyingly—a reminder of their mishap earlier. The pirates jittered.

"You'll do it without the Force," Hondo said, swirling a braid between his long bony fingers. "Or we see how long Kenobi survives in a cell. _Alone._ "

Anakin scowled, rubbing his arm mechanically while he thought. He had nothing to grab onto to pull him up, and nothing to use as a lever or fulcrum. Just pirates. Lots and lots of pirates.

"I need my hands," Anakin argued. "Let me use the Force. It's a _part_ of me. This doesn't even make any sense—"

Hondo shook his head. "Let me give you a scenario, _eh?_ Who might bring you to this side of the galaxy…Count Dooku, perhaps?" Anakin's eye twitched. "Yes, say our friend the Count decides to clap you in chains and drag you and Kenobi away. He takes away your lightsabers, your wheelchair—"

"Sounds a lot like _you_ right now."

"—and all you have around you is guards. No Force. No special Jedi-mind tricks. What is it going to come down to? Just you and the floor and your grit."

Anakin threw up his hands, sarcastically answering: "Then I'd die, Hondo. Your scenario would kill me."

Hondo clucked his tongue. "It might be a big _'what if'_ in your mind, but I suggest you take me seriously. This is, after all…" he trailed, flicking an invisible speck of dirt off Anakin's shoulder. "My ship."

Anakin glared at the stubborn smuggler, but before Hondo could continue his little bravado, Anakin rolled over onto his stomach.

He could do this. _He could do this_.

One more try: "Let me use my hands."

 _"My_ ship, _my_ rules."

So Anakin gritted his teeth and pulled his wheelchair toward him. He locked the wheels one by one, since his hands couldn't part and he needed his elbows on the ground to keep elevated. Then he mimicked a push-up, trying to ignore his trembling muscles.

"Your rules are _sithspit,"_ Anakin seethed, frustrated of how little his legs could help him, and quick to pin the anger on anyone near. Hondo patted him on the back, a reminder of _whose kriffing ship_ it really was.

His arms gave out before long, and his cheek grated against the floor.

"And the great Jedi falls," Hondo tsked.

But all Anakin could hear is Master Windu's voice, repeating and contorting between his ears. He saw the broken tablet, his ruined note to Obi-Wan, and his prone position, bowed before his doubts in the form of his elder.

 _"You're not the Chosen One. You're just a self-pitying, broken, worthless, foolish little boy way out of his league. Let the more experienced Jedi take over, Skywalker. Leave the Jedi Order."_

"Jedi don't fall," Anakin wheezed, slowly rising up on his elbows once more. _Do it, already. Let even the voices be surprised._ "'Guess they should fire me."

Anakin thrust his arms out in a last ditch effort, watching the chain swing out in slow motion to catch on the break of the left wheel. With the momentum behind him, he craned his neck, pulled back and thrust his hips forward as well as he could. In less than a few seconds, Anakin was wobbly sitting on his knees.

"It really would have been easier with my hands," Anakin bragged, panting but satisfied with his progress. From there, he could swing himself around as if he was in bed, and lift his body into the seat. "Still, piece of cake."

It was not, in fact, a piece of cake.

He grunted, twisting and turning until he was crookedly seated, hips cock-eyed and legs tangled beneath him. Taking each of his stubborn legs one at a time with his tied hands, he pegged each down on its footrest. Then, he buckled himself in, as painstaking as it was to do it with one conglomeration of a hand. He wasn't about to fall off his wheelchair any time soon—not with how much it took out of him to get back without the Force.

Hondo cracked a reluctant grin. "Let's keep going, shall we? It's only morning, and I'm _very_ excited to see how well you swim."

"I'm from Tatooine," Anakin deadpanned.

"That's the reason for half of my excitement!"

Anakin was wheeled down a long overpass, then precariously balanced across a rusty metal bridge. There were no railings, and Anakin could see straight down to the busy loading dock below. Pirates of all colors and sizes hauled giant crates into different, smaller ships or were breaking apart smaller pieces of scrap metal. Wincing, he wondered which parts were his own ship.

Then he saw it.

A small, dark figure leaning against a wall, looking directly at him. No strange braids attached, no helmets or vests or horns. Human.

Leo.

With a quick twitch of his fingers, Anakin flicked out three signals:

 _Help. Obi-Wan. Prisoner._

Leo flattened himself against the wall as pirates sauntered past. Anakin craned his neck backwards as he continued to be pushed forward, nearly away from the docks. As soon as the pirates were past, Leo signed back.

 _Help. Obi-Wan. Prisoner. Copy. You?_

Anakin hastily signed: _Good._

Then Leo and the docks disappeared from view.

Hopefully, Leo wouldn't go after him. At the right time, Anakin promised himself he would get the jump on his captors, take them down one by one, then go back and get his companions. He was practically free-range, except for his obvious restrictions with his cuffs. Obi-Wan on the other hand was strung on a wall like a crude ornament; painfully still in order to not trip the electric bonds.

Hondo placed a warning palm on his shoulder. Anakin shrugged it off, annoyed. "I don't have anything to say to you, _brigand."_

"Ah, but I have something to say to _you_ ," Hondo said, waiving the last of the party away, leaving him and Hondo alone in an empty, angular corridor. The bluish metal walls gave Anakin an uneasy feeling. "Good job."

"What?"

"Good job," Hondo said again, and Anakin swallowed the urge to ask him to say it a third time. "You performed honorably. I admire those who do not give up. A toast—" Hondo raised a flask that had been attached to his belt. "—to a few more rounds of hard work, eh?"

Anakin snorted. "I'm tempted, really, but you see I've _tried_ the Weequay's favorite drink before, and I ended up knocked out and chained up to a Seppie."

Hondo chuckled, downing a good half of the bottle. "Then to my own resolution."

* * *

Anakin sat shivering in nothing but his briefs (which he had taken to wearing again, thank the Force for his insight) on a metal stool against a wall. His chains had been let, and while the cuffs remained, he at least had his arm span back.

Hondo stood on the opposite side of the room, instructing pirates and servants around with a point of his long finger, sending away the slow ones to duties elsewhere. Each pirate in turn would stare at Anakin's slim form, lick their lips or whistle low notes. Anakin would resist the urge to try his luck against the electric shock and strangle them all, breathing labored as he tried to think only of Obi-Wan sitting in his cell, Leo trapped in the docks.

"Why does this part include me naked and on show?" Anakin called, too nervous to filter his thoughts. It was all too familiar—the sandy carpet, the in ground pool just deep enough to make him squirm, the smooth blue seat that would eventually lower him down to his watery practice routine. The only thing missing was Master Che's ever-present glare and Captain Rex in a black bathing suit.

"To keep you from running," Hondo laughed, clapping a cold hand on Anakin's bare back. "A naked man on my ship wouldn't even get past the door without my watchful eye."

Anakin muttered that it didn't make him feel any safer, but it was a good try.

When Hondo's seal of approval finally stamped the room "fine enough," Anakin was given three black strips. The pirate nudged them into his hands, not speaking or explaining their use. He simply nodded and scampered away, leaving Anakin with the mysterious, Velcro-ridden fabric.

"Hey, Hondo!" he eventually called as he watched Hondo push one sorry pirate into the water to test its temperature. "What are these? Some pirate—"

"Floatation devices, my Jedi friend! One around your chest, the other two around your thighs. By the Force, you'd think he's never done therapy before!" Hondo exclaimed.

"I haven't, really," Anakin admitted, carefully judging Hondo's emotions. "And when I did, I didn't use _flotation devices."_

 _"Well,_ this is my ship—"

"I _kriffing know_ its your ship!"

"Then I'll check the devices myself if they are too tight."

 _What?_ Anakin thought. _Think I was gonna strangle myself when he wasn't looking?_ But he didn't laugh, because Obi-Wan wouldn't have found that thought funny at all.

He hastily strapped the floatation fabric around his lower thighs, careful to avoid his catheter and bag, the around his chest, thankful for the extra covering they supplied. While they didn't stop the hungry looks, at least he felt a little warmer.

Which, of course, didn't last long either.

Hondo tugged at each of the three devices, loosening his left leg's marginally, before nodding to the pirates at his sides, who in turn gripped Anakin by his arms and (much to Anakin's dismay) placed him in the lowering chair.

"I should ask—are you comfortable, my Jedi friend?" Hondo didn't really sound like he was waiting for an answer.

"Not really."

"Good, good. Lets get started, then."

And the chair started to lower deeper into the water, moving at a ridiculously slow rate. The Velcro straps grated against the gooseflesh covering every inch of his body—only to get worse as the cold water touched his feeling skin.

"Force, this is ice water!" Anakin yelped, scrambling to hoist himself higher in the chair to stay out of the pool. Hondo paused the chair's descent, looking down his nose with a fake pout.

" _Poor Skywalker_." Hondo shook his head, smiling to the heavens. "We've got a long road ahead of us."

Anakin reeled. Those words, _those words_ —he had said them to Rex.

 _"We've got a long road ahead of us, Rex. Are you ready to take it with me?"_

 _Rex had answered. "Absolutely. To the ends of the galaxy."_

 _They had embraced, put their suits on, and faced their task ahead._

But here Anakin was, by his own fault, alone and in the same dilemma as the last time. His arms had grown weak, his legs even skinnier than before. His abdomen ached simply from keeping himself upright without the buckle of his chair. He was at the end of the galaxy, and his Captain was nowhere in sight. It was his fault, and his fault alone that he faced the road on his own.

Anakin couldn't help but hate himself for it.

It was his normal sob story—he backs himself into a corner by pushing away anyone who tried to help, ruined carefully mending relationships like he was born to before realizing he needed them just as desperately as he needed oxygen. Then he'd find its too late to apologize. Sometimes, he found the miracle of Obi-Wan's long-suffering humor, or Padmé's patience; other times Rex's courageous trust, Ahsoka's determination. Sometimes, though, there was nothing but the barrel of a blaster and his own sinking mind.

"—Are you listening at all?"

Anakin snapped into the present tense, finding himself shivering in his boxers, shoulder-deep in the Weequay Saucer's pool.

"Sorry?" Anakin apologized half-heartedly, shrugging. "Water's too cold to think."

"Your tongue is too sharp, more like. Try closing it and letting your actions do the talking. My assistant," Hondo changed topics efficiently. "And friend will help with your session. I will sit here." And he did, gracelessly falling onto a metal stool identical to the one Anakin waited on for Force-knows how long.

A pirate waded into the water with a kind smile, his long grayish hair pulled back into a low tail. His chest was bare and scarred, his long, loose pant legs swaying with the water's pull. Anakin graciously gave him some sort of resemblance of a ferocious growl. The pirate only reached behind him placing a warm hand on the small of Anakin's back, making Anakin suck in a breath.

"I will slit your throat if you try anything," Anakin warned.

"You sound just like him," the pirate chuckled, lifting Anakin out of the chair and onto his own, floating, freewill.

"Like who?"

"Like—" the pirate started only to be interrupted by Hondo.

"No need to introduce the dead, Buuca," Hondo rushed, sending daggers through his glare. Anakin didn't miss the connection between the two brigands, though the moment passed quickly. "Old Kenobi is getting awfully uncomfortable by now."

Anakin barely heard anything after that, as he was floating with his ears just under the water. He could, however, hear Buuca say: "How does this feel?"

"Good," Anakin answered, surprising himself with the words. It _did_ feel good. No pressure on his achy arms and abs, no sweaty clothes or tangle of the catheter.

It was a taste of freedom.

"How about now? How does this feel?" Anakin craned his neck to see Buuca holding his legs at a ninety-degree angle, bending at the knees. He licked his lips, feeling that deep burning sensation he hadn't felt in a long while.

"Not as good."

They went on like that, Buuca pressing and pulling, asking Anakin each time how it felt, what his boundaries were. Anakin would answer on a scale of _"kriff!"_ to _"okay."_ Most of the time, it was somewhere in between.

Hondo was tapping a finger impatiently on his knee. "Are these exercises, Buuca?" he said through clenched teeth. Buuca held up a calming hand.

"A way to track progress, Hondo. We will move on if you wish."

Hondo relaxed on his stool, waving his comment away. "Impatience never helped anyone. Keep going."

As if Anakin had any say in the matter.

The exercises continued to get harder, and Anakin started to have to engage his core muscles, sitting up and staying sitting as Buuca glided him through the waters back and forth.

And back and forth.

 _And back…and forth…_

Anakin's stomach was screaming by the fifth or sixth pass. He waited for Buuca's _"how does this feel?"_ but it never came. Pride wouldn't let him start the sentence. Anyway, how would it sound?  
 _"Um, Buuca? I literally cannot sit up on my own this long. I think you should just let me drown."_ But he didn't laugh at that one either, because he could practically see Obi-Wan's frown between the dancing black spots.

So he kept the crunched position for a little longer, obeying the alterations Buuca made to each exercise with religious perfection. Soon, he was doing light bounces, pulse-ups, and sculling until every other part of his body was burning with the same intensity.

Buuca finally said the blessed words: "How did that feel?"

"I feel like I'm going to shrivel up and die."

Hondo snorted. "Shrivel, yes—die? No, Skywalker. Not today."

Which turned out to be very true. After another however long in the water, the pads of Anakin's fingers were wrinkled and peeling, his make-shift bun sagging over his shoulder in a pitiful apology for not being good enough to stay put. He felt wrung out—too tired to do much but melt into Buuca's bony arms when he called for a break.

"Not quite yet, Mister Jedi."

Anakin was told to make his way down to a set of slim bars outside of the water with the help of the raising chair and Buuca's instruction. The burning sensation continued with a ferocity Anakin had not felt in a long time.

He told himself that it wasn't feeling returning to his legs.

It is his body reacting to pain it cannot feel.

His blood pressure, or a twisted catheter, or some other problem.

Not feeling.

 _But it was so hard to not hope._

Shivers wracked his body once again as he was moved slowly to the dry, sand-like ground. He grimaced: wet sand was even worse than dry sand.

The bars came a little higher than his waist when he was rolled over, through the sand and to the dry therapy quarter. It was difficult to ignore the difference of therapy now, as Anakin recalled the bars in the pool with Master Che. He wavered as Buuca told him to pull himself onto the bars for support.

"I hope you're not expecting me to walk with these things."

Buuca stood stoically at his side, not saying a word but hinting that Anakin already had the idea of the exercise.

"I can't do it, not yet," Anakin argued. Buuca placed a firm hand on his forearm as Anakin wobbled on the bars getting from sitting to semi-standing.

"Then we will try, and try again."

* * *

Anakin lost all perception of time.

It was him, Hondo yelling, him falling. It was Buuca pulling him back to holding the bars. His curses, Hondo's admonitions. Buuca's kind face.

His arms were at a constant tremor of overuse, his back twanging whenever he bent at a wrong point. Anakin was covered head-to-toe in sticky, wet sand.

It was enough to make a grown Jedi cry.

Though he didn't, out of sheer need for some ounce of pride as he fell and couldn't get up for what must have been the fortieth time.

"I'm done," he croaked. "I can't get up. Not this time."

He was lying there, bathed in the worst substance in the galaxy, with two strangers-near-enemies. Obi-Wan was in a cell, alone, unable to move. Some lot they drew this time.

"Then we've had enough for today," Buuca decided, much to Hondo's dismay. As Buuca helped Anakin dust off what they could for sand, Hondo walked small circles around the room, eyeing the pool, the bars, the sand, Anakin. Buuca leaned in to his ear. "Don't let him frighten you. He's lost in the past."

"I'm not scared."

"Good. I'm not either."

Then the pirate hoisted Anakin back into his wheelchair (Anakin could hear the grind of sand between every part of him) and he was wheeled to the door. Anakin looked down, knowing he was still only in boxers. Soaking wet, sandy boxers.

"Hey, do I get my clothes back?" he asked irritably.

"Eh? Oh, Buuca. Get the man his tunic," Hondo ordered. Buuca did, tugging the soft fabric over Anakin's aching arms and finally giving his body a resemblance of warmth. His pants were just laid across his legs.

"Wait!—" Anakin cried as Hondo came up behind him and pushed him through the door and into the hallways of the saucer. "I didn't—"

"Your own fault," Hondo assured as they rolled to the rickety bridge, over the docks. Anakin quickly scanned for Leo. The crates he hid by were there, but the clone had disappeared _. Force knows how long I was in there,_ Anakin thought darkly. _Anything could have happened to him._

Hondo left him at the bridge. "Until tomorrow, my Jedi friend," he said as he tipped his hat. "My men will take good care of you."

Anakin somehow doubted that.

He wanted Hondo to leave. Good riddance. His aching back and burning legs told him that Hondo wanted nothing but to make up for a wrong. That left Obi-Wan unprotected. So, sacrificing the small bit of dignity he had left, Anakin called after the brigand's retreating form.

"Hey, Hondo?"

"Hm?"

"You-you can try and break me all you'd like—I'm not going to quit."

"Ah, so today was all a dream, then?"

"Just don't touch Obi-Wan, got it? You touch him, I will make you pay."

"Ah," Hondo said slowly, a smile creeping onto his face. "I believe our good friend Kenobi said the same exact words about _you."_

Hondo never turned around, never quite acknowledged Anakin's threat, but walked away with a saunter that if it weren't for the Force inhibitors on Anakin's wrists every object in the room would have been in flight.

He was pushed away by a small group of pirates, and while Buuca shouted warnings at them, Anakin was sure he wasn't going to arrive at the cell in one piece.

They retraced the steps, nearly foot-for-foot.

And while their comments were haughty and gruesome, not one laid a hand on Anakin—even though each one took a turn at eyeing his skinny, bare legs _._

* * *

With so many bodies in the tight enclose of a ship, it was hard to sort out his Master's presence. He tried with a hard pulse through their old bond to let Obi-Wan know that he was all right, and that he was getting carted back to the cell.

It took him until he was five steps from the door to locate his former Master's presence. Always bright and burning—surrounded by the calmest aura of Force Anakin had ever encountered. He loved Obi-Wan for it, though he couldn't always express it the way he wanted to. The way Obi-Wan deserved to know.

Not like today was going to be any different, no matter the circumstances.

With his low seat in his wheelchair, he couldn't see his Master's face, though he could hear the low hum of the collar around his neck. The long chains between his wrists had once again been activated, completely halving his range of motion. Like the pirates were scared he'd take them out with his fists if given the chance.

Which, Anakin thought, wasn't a terrible plan C.

The cell door slid open and Anakin was tossed inside. Without the buckle around his waist he sprawled forward and landed hard on his side. Obi-Wan flinched in his pose at the wall, but did not make a move until the door slammed shut and the pirates walked cackling away.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan breathed. "Are you unharmed?"

"Mostly," Anakin answered truthfully, too tired to keep up any act. Just in case Obi-Wan wanted more than a one-word answer, he buried everything behind his mental shields.

"I couldn't feel anything, not a thought, not a—"

Anakin held up his wrists to answer. "Inhibitors. I can't feel a thing either."

Though that wasn't entirely true. He had felt a connection, something strange in the Force, something strong. He couldn't entirely be sure what it was, but deep in his gut, he wished for it to be Ahsoka. He wished more than anything his Padawan was out there trying to get a hold of him, that she realized her mistake and wanted to come home to him.

But he couldn't be sure.

As Anakin slumped against the wall of the small cell, Obi-Wan slowly moved his legs out of their crossed position, careful not to trip any electricity.

"Would you like to meditate with me?" Obi-Wan tried. Anakin shook his head numbly. "Would you like me to help you sleep?"

"Not really." Anakin rubbed at his burning thighs. "Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive you of my wonderful company."

Obi-Wan chuckled softly. "No, I suppose not. But I'd rather you have rest and be ready for the morning. You know they won't give up after just one session."

"I know." Anakin had heard it from Hondo's own mouth.

"Then rest, Anakin. Force knows I'll be here when you wake."

But Anakin had a hard time believing the Force would know anything about their situation. Their hostage state wasn't uncommon between the two of them—they had been in chains for the last few months of war more than they had been out of them—but this was different.

Everything these days were different.

But Obi-Wan was already nudging at his mind, and Anakin felt too weak to argue. He pushed himself off the wall and curled up in a ball facing the door.

"You'll wake me up if something happens, right?"

"I'll wake you up even if nothing happens."

So Anakin kept one hand on his belt, where he wished his lightsaber was, and swept Obi-Wan's calm over him like a thick wool blanket. "I wanted to talk to you…" Anakin blurted as his eyes slid closed. "About therapy…Buuca's not scared either."

He yawned, letting the waves of sleep wash over him.

The last thing he heard was Obi-Wan's sigh. "Well, I suppose I've got enough fear for all of us."

That was before Anakin let nightmares guide him into unconsciousness.

After only got worse.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Ahsoka stood with her arm latched around her target's neck, slowly feeling the consciousness slip away. The Force was weak in the human's bones, and Ahsoka buried the feeling of guilt with the fact. He meant nothing to her. He had chosen the wrong side the moment he said yes to Dooku.

She thought of Rex, bloodied and broken, deposited on the hard marble floors of Padmé's bedroom. In a chain effect, the limp figure in the crook of her elbow had put him there. She convinced herself that, and then let him drop to the gritty pavement beneath them, tucked away from prying eyes.

Then she moved on with the information repeating in her head.

 _"Dooku's got nothin' to do with the freak Palpatine. Dooku's own life'd been taken if he'da stuck around him. He's hiding out, getting a group together. He ain't a Jedi, but he sure ain't a Sith no more. Nearly sliced up the whole bar a few days back."_

Ahsoka had followed Dooku's cowardly trail all the way to Caloria, far into the depths of the Tapani sector and farther than she hoped to go. She knew it wouldn't be a day trip—Dooku learned from Master Yoda, after all—but she had secretly held onto the hope that she would be back by Rex's bedside by then, nursing him back to health alongside of Padmé's care.

She shook away the image of his pale face among the Senator's pillows, blood and pus oozing out of his infected and badly treated wounds. Ahsoka scoffed, kicking out at the pebbles around her. _What could she do to make him better? She had been so drunk, so absolutely stupid he probably didn't even want to see her face._

With an act like a wisp of smoke, she jumped from the alleyway and up to the rafters of Caloria's city limits. Around her stretched dark, placid mountains with tips that bled into the waning light, jungles and plains running into the remote and congregated parts of the planet. For a reason unknown to Ahsoka, she felt a pang of homesickness.

Homesick? For where?

Not the Jedi Temple, certainly not—she had broken so much of the Code by now that it was useless going back. The Jedi tolerated her and her Master just barely to begin with.

Her Master.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself silent. The sickness doubled, and she slid down the wall nauseous by her own shortcomings. Where was her Master? Was he getting better, or slowly worsening by the day? He hadn't ever let down his guards when she was around. Would she ever be able to face him, what with her destroying his Captain and his friend, breaking their bond so fiercely and abruptly that she could feel the empty space in her chest? She knew his secret. Somehow, deep in her gut she had always known. She suspected Obi-Wan knew too, deep down. Could she live with that?

Her body against the rough cement wall told her no. If the answer was yes, Rex would be whole, the cavity in her heart would be nonexistent, and her Master would be at her side, whispering those sarcastic comments in that low, mischievous voice.

 _"Hey Snips, wanna play a game?"_

She could hear his voice so clearly in the moment she almost looked over her shoulder. Almost.

"No."

 _"Aw, c'mon. I'm the automatic winner if I play alone."_

"And the loser," Ahsoka whispered to the night's hollow darkness. "You're used to that position, though."

 _"Stick in the mud!"_

"Fine, show me how to play." She was going insane, driven mad by her ache for someone to stand next to, fight with, laugh at.

 _"It goes like this: I jump a building, you jump two. I jump three, you jump four. Think you can keep up?"_

"Easy, Skyguy." The buildings were packed in tightly in the city square, and jumping two, three, four, or even five at a time would be simple. Efficient, too. "But how are you—?"

 _"You worry about your own pretty little feet, Snips."_

So she leapt three buildings at a time, landing on a plywood-covered roof gracefully enough as to not upset the flocks of strange birds. She laughed, sweeping her gloved hands over her skirt.

"Beat that, Master!"

But he never responded. Instead, the birds scattered to the skies, alerting the city below of her disturbance. She cursed her imagination and leapt again, again, again, over buildings and apartments and city halls with a devoted neuroticism that scared Ahsoka herself.

 _I've cracked,_ she mourned, _I'm so kriffing mad._

As if to prove her point, she heard a gust of her Master's hearty laughter on the warm city breeze, carrying away with it the last of her resolve for the night.

Ahsoka folded in on herself and wept.

She cried of exhaustion, of hunger, of mourning. She cried for Rex and Padmé, for her Master, Master Kenobi, for the 501st, and most of all for her distance from everything. Finding Dooku, getting her revenge did not only seem like the right way but the _only_ way to win her way back into the hearts of those she needed like oxygen. Her lightsaber felt heavy on her belt, and she resisted the urge to whip it off, throw it over the edge of the buildings, wait until it hit the pavement below, where that poor human lay unconscious in the alley.

 _"Why'd you want to know, kid?" he had snorted. "I may be drop dead drunk, but I ain't stupid. I've got years behind the Seppie lines, and I ain't stupid. I ain't…" he had trailed off, meeting Ahsoka's eyes for the first time. He dropped the toxic-looking liquid in his hand, and the bottle broke messily on the bar's floor._

 _"What?" Ahsoka dared, her hand moving stealthily to her lightsaber. He swallowed hard._

 _"You'se a Jedi. It's the brightness in your eyes, I can tell. I've got years behind the Seppie lines…"_

Ahsoka squeezed the cold metal in her strong, calloused hands and gritted her teeth. _It was her life, it was her life, it was her life. Her lightsaber was her life._

"Tell me what my life is now," she pleaded to the object.

She was no Jedi. She had told the man that, slipping into his mind to convince him to follow her outside, where she proceeded to interrogate him mercilessly. Dooku had been on the planet surface days ago, but he had lost contact. He was too drunk to remember details. Dooku was secretive. He had slipped into a back room and slept off the high and when he had woken up by being thrown out of the bar Dooku had long left the cantina—his lightsaber slices the only evidence of the Count every being there in the first place.

Ahsoka had run her fingers over the splintered wood and the burned metal, concluding the same conclusion as the drunk had. Count Dooku had been there, some fight had started, and he had made his escape in the chaos. How many times had her Master done the same thing, calling over his shoulder for Ahsoka to stay close, or for Master Kenobi to diffuse the situation?

Her body too tired to move from her crumpled spot on the rooftops, she pulled her cloak around her tightly and squeezed into a corner away from the breeze. Ignoring the safety protocol she learned when she was a youngling, she slept with her lightsaber still clutched in her fist, unable to let it go.

Her dreams were troubled.

 _She was in some sort of prison, one with strange contraptions of torture or the like, a eerily green pool glowing in the lack of light. Two men sat in the center of the room, one with his head in his hands, the other sitting back in contemplation._

 _Pirates, Ahsoka thought with finality. She had seen it all before—the dress, the strange braids, the long slim, trickster's fingers._

 _The pirate with his head in his hands swept a tired palm over his face, ending with a massage to his temples. At the same time, the thinker adjusted to sit with his chin cupped, sighing. Their motions almost harmonized with each other in a familiar sense._

 _"You're wrong about the boy, you know," the thinker said after their long silence. Ahsoka felt like an intruder on a private meeting. Maybe she was. "He is stronger than Eiken. You're not doing him any services by running him to the ground."_

 _The other sat up from his position with an abrupt kick of his feet. "What do you mean by that? I_ could _be letting him rot in a cell."_

 _Ahsoka could finally place a name with the face she looked into. Captain Hondo—that filthy Weequay pirate. She had a sinking feeling the 'him' that could be rotting in a cell was her Master._

 _"Your patience and grace never ceases to amaze me," the pirate next to Hondo chuckled. "Always has."_

 _"Eh? Well, being oldest always gave you mother's attention. I had to have some redeeming qualities just to be noticed."_

 _Pirate brothers? Ahsoka could have laughed—pirates usually killed off their relations before they were twenty. Only the harshest survived in their world._

 _"Mother always loved us. All of us." Hondo nodded, clapping his supposed older brother on the shoulder for the meaningful comment. Ahsoka could have sworn they looked teary._

 _"The Jedi boy reminds me so much of Eiken, I…I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. It's in the way he juts out his chin when he's arguing—he even has stitches, just like our brother!"_

 _They laughed, mocking the common trait between them and clutching their sides. Sand was kicked up around them in drifting fits of glee._

 _A therapy room! Ahsoka could clearly see it now. It wasn't a torture chamber, it was modeled so close to Master Che's that Ahsoka almost expected to see her around the corner._

 _"Should I go give the two Jedi dinner?" the brother asked. Hondo waved him away, wiping his decidedly wet cheeks with his filthy fingers._

 _"No, no, Buuca. I'll do it myself."_

Ahsoka woke, names and thoughts and curses echoing in her head. Hondo, Eiken, Buuca—but most importantly _the two Jedi._ There were only two Jedi that Ahsoka knew with a talent at getting caught by everyone and anyone they might happen upon.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker.

She shot up from the ground set on action, even though it was dark—save the flickering lights of full apartments and streetlights below. Then, she hesitated.

What were they doing in the Outer Rim?

The Council wasn't desperate enough to send Anakin on a mission—not with their mindset of his incapacity to fight. Obi-Wan wouldn't be keen on dragging him along without the Council's direct permission…unless they were reconnaissance, on a galaxy-wide stroll, or a rescue mission.

Ahsoka's heart sank.

She could, of course, dismiss the dream as just a dream. Her track record for prophetic dreaming wasn't perfect. It could be any number of her exhaustive symptoms driving the dreams punch into reality.

 _"Force,"_ she moaned, clipping her lightsaber back to her belt. "Idiots!"

As she leapt two more buildings in the planet's darkest hour, she said other things about the two Jedi ranging from bad to worse. They weren't supposed to go looking for her. What was she to them now? The Code-breaker, friend-stealer, heart wrenching failure of Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight.

It couldn't have been on Council orders.

Which meant they stole a ship.

Possibly a crew.

And most definitely meant they were in serious trouble.

Because while Ahsoka always had those two idiots worrying about her, they now had no one. Rex couldn't go, Padmé wouldn't go, and the 501st was in someone else's command, out of reach of their former General's influence.

Ahsoka tried to reason herself out of her conclusion.

 _They might be fine?_ She thought half-heartedly. _Maybe they're at a dinner party, and the therapy room was my active imagination._

She was back to the ship she had bartered for with her Padawan beads, and while she missed their familiar weight on her head she knew she had chosen right. The Force was still kind to her, after all that she'd done, all that she'd run from.

She knew where she needed to be.

Two Jawa creatures were slinking away from the left wing, and Ahsoka raised a menacing eyebrow. They muttered to each other in their own language, leaving Ahsoka without the words to carry what she thought had happened.

"What did you steal?" she hissed, her hand jumping to her hip for her saber. When they didn't respond, she called on the Force and lifted them by their plush coats, high into the air. "I asked you a question!"

They chirped and squirmed, but nothing fell out of their cloaks or grubby hands. Ahsoka let them go with a flick of her wrist, and they scrambled out of sight, leaving her frustrated, scanning the ship over to see what was missing.

There was no time to make an unplanned stop at a mechanic—especially when she would probably be buying back the same part that had been stolen by the Jawa. Ahsoka had always rolled her eyes at her Master's insistence to visit the junkiest places when they were on planet in need of supplies, his sharp eyes scanning for the exact part from the exact person. If it never showed, he would buy up food or clothes in bundles and hide them in the shops, slaves bending over his hands in awe and gratitude. Then, they'd go to the next store and do the same.

She ran her hands along its sleek metal wing, checking the left side once again. This time, her fingers caught on an edge.

A tracking device.

With renewed fervor, she patted down the ship's interior and exterior, finding two other devices. She hooked one on the rubbish bin she parked by, another wedged between bricks of a building. Before getting rid of the third, Ahsoka fingered it, turning it around and around in her palm.

It was Separatist made.

Somehow, someone had given away her position. Whoever that was wasn't ready to be caught…or fought with, more likely, given Ahsoka's current flaring temper. They had made sure she would be able to be found again when they were ready to face a Jedi.

Or whatever Ahsoka was now.

"Dooku," she whispered, though she couldn't be certain.

Her information said Dooku had left the planet. Fine. Let him leave, he couldn't run far. If he really had left, all the better. She would enjoy the look on his face when she cut him down. _For now,_ she thought _, let him enjoy his last days in hiding._

There were two Jedi she loved dearly rotting in a Weequay cell.

* * *

Padmé jogged out of her last interrogation-like meeting, sweat cascading down her spine. She had pleaded trauma—intense, shell-shocked trauma though she wasn't proud of it—when questioned about the stunning of ten or so doctors and guards after her attack. She was frightened, unsure of who was her friends, and couldn't trust anyone. The Senate as a whole had understood. A few were skeptical, but within good reason, seeing the events with Palpatine. And, fewer still had just vowed to become her mortal enemies.

All in a day's work.

She rounded the corner to her bedroom, where in the tunnels of the building lay Captain Rex, her slowly recovering patient that had been dumped on her floor just days before. While progress was a word Padmé had used often in his presence to cheer him up, it was a word too kind for his situation. He was still waxy and pale, feverishly warm yet shivering for hours on end. His wounds were red and pulsing with infection. She injected as much pain blocker as she could, him being too weak to swallow much more than small sips of water.

She wasn't a professional, and Force knows she couldn't pretend to be any longer. Rex was getting worse under her care, not better. As many supplies and instructions as she had received from her clueless staff, she was just an amateur playing doctor.

With a press of a button, Padmé had a medical droid called to her room. It was slow in getting there, but his phrase when he entered was: "I am here to assist you; you can trust me with your immediate medical care as well as long term treatment. Can you tell me your symptoms?"

Urgency was something Padmé hadn't seen in the Senate in a long time.

She pulled the droid in to the tunnel system and to the cot she had set up with fluid bags, a carry-on heart monitor, and plenty of blankets. The droid scanned over the scene with indifferent yellow eyes.

"Are you sworn to patient confidentiality?" Padmé pressed. The droid nodded. "Good. This is Captain Rex of the 501st. He's been tortured by Count Dooku for information and now he needs our help."

"I must ask if he has been receiving your help for a long period of time."

"Three days."

"Please exit the operation area. If I am unable to perform the necessary actions, the patient will suffer in his recovery. Am I understood?"

"O-operation?" Padmé stuttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "They're flesh wounds! I know that they're infected, but—"

"I have detected major internal bleeding, brain damage, and nerve damage. Two cracked ribs and a possibility of a punctured lung. Has the patient been wheezing, coughing weakly, or going without deep breaths for long periods of time?"

Padmé shrugged weakly. "I haven't been listening for it."

The droid turned its attention back to Rex. With new eyes, Padmé did also.

The discoloration underneath his skin—Padmé should have noticed that—and the way his chest rose and fell so weakly, so unevenly made her sick. She had been busy bandaging and cooing about how much progress he was making, how good it was to see him awake again that she had completely missed the important signs that he was getting worse, and that he needed help—higher, better help—fast.

"Oh, Rex," Padmé whispered shakily. It felt wrong, the strong Captain lying in the semi-darkness of the underground. The lanterns she had hung only cast long shadows over his body, making him look thinner, sicker.

The droid went about his business methodically, checking her novice medical work once and then rechecking, changing the levels of his fluids and pricking his finger. She watched the blood slowly leak out into his waiting utensil with interest. His heartbeat monitor was muted as to not give away their hideaway, but something about seeing the spiked lines and not hearing them made her yearn for the comforting, rhythmic beating.

Then she scoffed at herself. If she was only better at standard procedures, if only they could examine Rex in an open space with real lighting, if only they hadn't left at all…

She reached instinctively for his hand, weaving expertly through the cords and tubes around him. The medical droid looked at her hand in his.

"I do not care to ask again: Please exit the operation area. If I am unable to perform the necessary actions, the patient will suffer in his recovery. Am I understood?"

 _"Mghh."_

Padmé was about to nod her head and take her leave when Rex stirred, his weak, battered body twisting on his cot. Instead, she quickly turned to the droid.

"Can I—?"

"Lukewarm water would be appropriate at this time. The patient will be raised slightly to accommodate."

Padmé climbed out of the tunnel network and back into her bedroom where to her surprise, sat Master Mace Windu. If she had just a single bone of Force sensitivity she would have felt him come in. Instead, she just brushed off her dress with self-loathing and gave a thin-lipped smile.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a Master Jedi meeting me in my bedroom?" she said, trying to pack as much of her annoyance into the phrase as politely possible.

"I'm only here to ask you a few questions," Master Windu said just as politely-annoyed. Maybe less so.

"In my bedroom?" Padmé said again, just to make sure he realized how much of an invasion of privacy he had committed.

"If you would be so kind."

Padmé made a show of sitting down on her bed, blocking Master Windu's direct view of the tunnel entrance. If he had felt something in the Force, he would have already been alerted of her traitorous actions. If not, she did not want to take any chances of him finding out.

"Should I order tea?" Padmé asked pointedly. The Jedi didn't even smirk.

"I'm not Master Kenobi, Senator. I can ask questions without a hot drink."

Padmé cleared her throat, determined not to break his withering gaze. "Then I don't have all day, Master Jedi. By all means, ask away."

She had been interrogated all week for her actions, and before that for many months for Palpatine's. She had been interrogated by Separatists, Senate members, members of her Royal Court, and even Jedi from time to time. This was no different. She was not guilty. Her actions were right and just.

"Have you been in contact with Skywalker and Kenobi within the last week?"

She paused, in thought. She had dreamed…and that was that. Only a dream, for all Master Windu needed to know. She convinced herself that, and answered: "No, I have not."

The Jedi nodded. "And what of the Padawan, and the Captain?"

"I have heard nothing but rumors. Some say they were at the attack in the Undercity."

"So I've heard." He stood. "My last question, Senator, and I will leave you to go about your business."

"You are very kind, Master Jedi." The formalities were making her queasy.

"Master Healer Vokara Che has done extensive research on paralysis for Skywalker's sake—"

"And for her own personal files," Padmé added quickly.

"Yes, of course. But there have been witnesses saying she's employing Kaminoans. You yourself have proved a valued keeper of young Skywalker: does this sound true?"

"It does," Padmé answered truthfully. "Why not ask for help? Anakin Skywalker is a Jedi Knight, and thought to be the Chosen One to fulfill the prophecy. If he's confined to a wheelchair—"

"Thank you, Senator. I am well aware of what is thought about Skywalker."

"You mean you don't believe it's true?"

Master Windu pressed his tightening fists to his sides. He was suddenly both tensed, and comfortably cocky.

"I never have." He bowed slightly, turning to cross the room in four long strides. Padmé refused to breathe until he left, fearing even a sigh would give her away. "And Senator? Don't let any of your answers change. I don't want to have to come back here on... less friendly terms."

"Have a good day, Master Windu."

"You as well."

And he was gone.

Padmé sucked in air quickly, her stomach churning and her head reeling. _What had she said? Had she given anything away?_ She couldn't remember _. What had he said about Master Che? Kaminoans? Research?_ He didn't believe in Anakin being the Chosen One. _What did that response mean? Did he suspect anything?_

A shriek flooded out of the tunnels, snapping Padmé out of her frantic replays of the questioning. _Rex._

Remembering what she had come for in the first place, she snagged a cup from her bedside. She cursed at her faucet as it spat cold water over her trembling hands, the realization of just how catastrophic that impromptu meeting could have been.

 _Did he know?_

 _Was he fooling with her?_

And then: _Could he see the blood?_

The water had already washed most of it away, but in the crevices of her fingers there was the undeniable crimson color that sent her mind reeling. A minute passed, and then two, then as the water rushed warm over her cup and her hands, filling the basin to the brim, Padmé steeled her will. Switching off the faucet, she checked the door's lock, crept over to the grate and pried it off, then careful not to upset her cup she climbed down into the tunnels, following the soft light from the lanterns until her eyes fell upon the droid and Rex, the silent heart monitor still spiking and falling, spiking and falling.

But as she bent to tip the water into the Captain's parched lips, she found it to be too late. The beaten soldier had lost another battle against unconsciousness.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

"Anakin," came an urgent whisper. "Anakin they're coming down the hall."

Anakin was conscious in seconds, wincing as his sore muscles protested his getting up. Therapy, falling, and sleeping on the ground gave him the unpleasant feel of a wooden doll—stiff, splintery, and not good for much else but sitting.

Obi-Wan was staring intently at his former Padawan.

Anakin stared down at his pantsless legs.

The door to their cell was wrenched open, revealing Hondo holding a steaming tray of mugs and bowls. His emotion was unreadable.

"Gentlemen!" Hondo cried graciously, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. He was watching Anakin, his every breath, every blink. Anakin tried not to squirm under the intensity. "I thought you looked hungry."

Anakin's stomach growled on cue. He was _starving._

Obi-Wan, though, declined. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

Hondo shrugged and handed the platter to Anakin, who took the hot mug in his shaking hands and sipped. It soothed his parched throat almost immediately. After draining the liquid he moved on to the bowl of mysterious content. Eyeing it warily, Anakin cleared his throat.

"Uh, Hondo?"

"Yes, Skywalker?"

"What's in this?"

"I don't think you are in the position to be asking questions, my boy."

Anakin made a face, just once catching Obi-Wan's gaze. It told him everything their bond could not tell him: _You need food to keep you strong. Eat it. Eat my portion too._

He answered back with a forlorn look. _No, Obi-Wan! You need you're strength too if we're going to get out of here—_

"Are you going to eat it?" Hondo snapped. "Or not?"

Anakin took a sip cautiously, finding the mealy stew to be burning hot, and almost tasteless. With less caution, he took another. And another, another, until his tongue was stripped of all of its taste buds and the bowl was empty. Hondo moved to grab the leftover food.

"Wait!" Anakin moved to stop him. Hondo looked up. "I'll drink that too."

He could give it to Obi-Wan when the idiot came to his senses.

Hondo glared. "Greediness is not becoming, Skywalker." And he knocked the mug and bowl over, its mysterious origin spilling all over the cell floor. Anakin winced. The stew and liquid soaked slowly into Obi-Wan's tunic. The smell alone was unbearable, but the heat…the steam rose off of it in lazy clumps as they stared. Obi-Wan said nothing, moved nothing. He sat straight and still, refusing to trigger the electric.

Hondo dipped his head, clearly and sickly amused. "Kenobi, my friend! Do you mind me borrowing Skywalker for a moment or two?"

No response.

"Wonderful!" Hondo held out a hand for Anakin to take. Anakin couldn't believe he was seeing it. "Come, now, Skywalker! I gave you food, opened up my home, and you still don't trust me?"

"Take off these chains and ask me again," Anakin replied.

Hondo smiled, and with a nod two pirates pushed through the door, picking Anakin up under his armpits and hauled him, struggling as much as his tense body would let him, out of the cell.

"Obi-Wan!" he shouted, more out of instinct than necessity. What could Obi-Wan do? For once in a long time, his elder was less fit to help him than he was himself. "Obi-Wan, I'll be back, I swear, just wait—"

But his was forced into his wheelchair, still grinding with sand and wetness, with such abruptness that the air was knocked out of his lungs. Obi-Wan didn't answer, his stone-like form meditating or the like. Anakin couldn't understand that calm Obi-Wan could adapt—he clung to it, yes, but couldn't understand it.

"Let's get going, Dagg," Hondo said and motioned for the pirates to push Anakin out of the containment area. The pirate on Anakin's left ran a nimble finger discreetly down his leg, buckling him into the wheelchair. Anakin seethed, gritting his teeth and whipping out with his arms, linking the chain between his hands over the pirate's head and yanking him close.

"Don't touch me," Anakin hissed.

"Boss!" the pirate—Dagg—whimpered, wriggling to get out of Anakin's surprisingly strong hold. "Boss, help! He's got me, he's got me!"

The other pirate grabbed a fistful of Anakin's hair and yanked backwards, Anakin's neck snapping back. Finding his chance, Dagg slipped out of the chains around his throat and coughing horridly, pedaled away. Hondo tapped his foot impatiently.

"Now, boys?" The two pirates nodded vigorously, glaring daggers at Anakin, as if he was the sole offender, the instigator, the thug. Dagg even having the audacity to whistle while he went to the back of the wheelchair to grip the handles.

"I'll get you for that, Jedi," Dagg snarled in Anakin's ear. Anakin gave him an even look in return. _Pirates were all talk,_ he assured himself.

Anakin let his eyes slide closed, relishing a few more moments of rest. He didn't have to watch where he was going, he knew. His arms and core remembered, his eyes remembered, his mouth remembered.

The therapy room.

Buuca stood at the door, floatation devices in hand.

Before they entered, Hondo stopped the party and dismissed the two pirates, who slunk away looking over their shoulder, firing curses with their gritted teeth. Hondo watched them retreat before pulling out the same flask as before. He held it out, toasting to the air.

"My offer is the same," Hondo said slyly. Anakin frowned.

"I don't want you're _kriffing_ alcohol."

Hondo smiled fondly before pouring the acid-looking drink down his throat, wiping his lips with a smack, and pushed him the rest of the way into the room.

Buuca pulled the tunic off of Anakin's body, and Anakin sat shivering in nothing but his briefs on that same metal stool against a wall. His chains had been let and force inhibitors left on just like before.

He surveyed the sand, the pool. No Rex. No Master Che.

He almost snorted, thinking how he was sentimental for that woman.

"Floatation devices, my Jedi friend! One around your chest, the other two around your thighs. Buuca, help him," Hondo ordered. Anakin muttered about remembering the stupid things.

Buuca strapped the thick black fabric around his legs and chest, Anakin grunting as he pulled and tugged at them to make sure they were the right fit. The pirate was humming. The lowering chair loomed before Anakin's sight, taking on every characteristic of evil as he remembered the ice cold water.

"Comfortable?" Hondo asked.

"Not really."

"You're a funny man, I'll give you that."

Buuca and Hondo then each took a side and Anakin's feeling skin trembled at the promise of a freezing bath. As the chair started to lower deeper into the water, moving at its ridiculously slow rate, Anakin looked up at the men above him.

"My chair was still wet when I got in it—"

Hondo cut off his question. "It is not a high quality chair."

"How long ago was the last time you made me swim?"

Buuca and Hondo exchanged a complicated look. Buuca bristled. "Seven hours ago." Hondo's frown deepened.

Anakin, reaching shoulder-deep water and shivering to the point that he thought his teeth might chatter out of his mouth, couldn't bring himself to skitter out any more syllables. The cold and dread of what was to come was enough to push the injustice out of his head.

The two pirates argued silently between them for another moment before separating, Hondo to the metal stool at the wall, and Buuca into the water. His long gray ponytail dipped into the water and went black in its depths. His chest was bare and scarred, his long, loose pant legs swaying with the water's pull. Anakin resisted flinching as he reached behind him to place his hand on the small of Anakin's back. Buuca guided him out of the chair and into a free-floating, just-above-water lying position. The water rushed to fill his ears, cold and loud.

"How does this feel?"

"Fine," Anakin answered, the routine coming back to him quick. The beautiful lack of pressure on his achy arms and abs, no sweaty clothes or tangle of the catheter. The sip of free will.

"Now?" Buuca held his legs at a ninety-degree angle, bending at the knees. The burning sensation flared in his body, and Anakin fought against crying out, channeling his pain into one, forced:

 _"Bad."_

The exercises went faster that day, hard but manageable, his sore body warming up to the water as he sat up and crunched, stretched, pushed, and fell. Buuca guided him through the pool with unbearable patience, altering the exercises as Anakin gave feedback, Buuca's rare pieces of praise letting Anakin do one more set, one more round, one more exercise. One more hour.

Anakin's body felt healthy.

He felt honorable, doing exercises like he could do with his eyes closed back many months ago, before his injury. Ahsoka laughing as he would do push up after push up, reciting pieces of the Jedi Code with her to study as they trained.

 _"There is no emotion!" Anakin would shout with gusto as his pressed his body barely to the ground, grunting coming back up with a lock of his elbows._

 _"There is peace!" Ahsoka would answer back, pressing down and back as well._

 _"There is no ignorance!" Grunt._

 _"There is knowledge!"_

 _"No passion!" Grunt._

 _"Serenity!"_

 _Anakin would laugh tightly, his arms pounding with lactic acid, forgetting where they were in the Code. He'd start to make up verses, Ahsoka laughing until she cried, rolling onto her back from the excessive work out and Anakin's pure idiocy._

 _"There is no good food! Only mush! There is no such thing as privacy! Only extreme togetherness! There is no comfort! Only starchy tunics!"_

 _Ahsoka would laugh and laugh, punching him lightly to make him stop. Anakin would do a few more push ups, just to make sure he beat her count, before standing up, giving Ahsoka his hand, and pulling her up to her feet as well. They'd move on to stances, crunches, or weights. They wouldn't stop until breakfast._

"Anakin?"

Buuca was talking to him. Anakin craned his neck out of the water to listen better. The pirate raised his eyebrow, questioning him silently. Anakin cleared his throat, giving a flitting smile.

"Sorry! Wasn't paying attention. Must be the lack of sleep."

With a few words of instruction, the slim bars were moved into the water. Anakin's burning body screamed at the sight of them.

 _Not feeling._

"No sand?" Anakin asked hopefully, his mood getting significantly better. Buuca let out a low chuckle.

"No, Anakin. No sand. Not right now."

The bars were lower than his waist in the water, the smooth metal threatening to cement to Anakin's wrinkled skin if he kept in one place too long. They were slippery, but yet waxy and firm. He looked down at his green and blue shoulders, bruised from his falls and mistakes. They didn't hurt, only acting as shame-filled reminders of his failures. He steeled his will, looking to Buuca for the go ahead. The old pirate smiled softly, nodding ever so slightly, clearly impressed. Anakin's heart warmed, scattering the freezing temperature for only a second.

He glanced at Hondo, whose frown was etched so deep into the pirate's already wrinkled face; Anakin assumed it must have been permanent. With a cocky grin to hide his nerves, Anakin turned back to Buuca.

"Is he always like this?" He jutted a shaky thumb Hondo's way.

"Since birth," Buuca replied, nodding again to urge Anakin to start the exercise. Biting his cheeks in concentration, Anakin started in, the water guiding his feet instead of weighing them down, his falls cooling him off, not frustrating him. Buuca would catch him under his armpits, encouraging him to try again. His fingers went numb against the cold metal but he didn't stop to think of them. He tucked his head in, dragging his body across the pool, muscles taut and determined.

And by the Force, did he walk.

* * *

The next session, Anakin walked further, fell less, earned more compliments.

"That's it, my boy!" Buuca would cry, clapping his hands as Anakin struggled to place his unfeeling foot in front of the other. The water felt cool against his hot skin. "A little farther!"

Anakin had reached the end of the bars. He froze.

"I-I'm not strong enough," he stuttered out. "Not yet, let me keep using the bars."

Buuca shook his head, nudging him forward. "You are stronger than you think."

Looking straight ahead, Anakin thought of Ahsoka. Of Rex. Of Obi-Wan.

Of Padmé.

Anakin let go.

The water was as still as glass—clear and void of any ripples. He could look down and see his feet, looking so small and far away. He flung his arms out to the side as if he could reach for the edge of the pool.

"Good! Keep your balance!" Buuca cheered. Anakin bit his lip, pouring all of his focus into his feet.

Drag with core and hip. Gain balance. Place foot down. Repeat.

One step. Two steps. Three. Four.

Five. Stumbling harshly on his own feet, Buuca held out his arms to catch him. The old pirate grinned childishly.

"Well done, Jedi Knight," he praised, using his title almost as a nickname. Anakin tried to push himself out of his grip.

"I can keep going," he insisted. Buuca waved Hondo over to the scene.

"You're toes are becoming bruised. Lets continue with another exercise," Buuca suggested. Hondo disagreed.

"Let him walk! I've got something for him." Hondo turned and walked out the door, disappearing for several minutes. Buuca didn't let go of Anakin even at his return. "This."

Anakin looked at the three objects Hondo held in his hands: two sticks, and one strange looking contraption. With two legs, and two wheels.

"What is it?" Anakin asked, eyeing the shiny metal and dark cloth handles.

"A walker."

Anakin snorted. "Doesn't look like a Walker to me." In his head he saw the almost animal-like machines, tromping down forests and snow piles. Buuca chuckled.

" _A_ walker, not AT AT walker, Anakin. You push it in front of you to keep your balance. Once you're out of the water, we'll try it. By next week, if you keep progressing like you have been, you'll be more than ready to try on land again."

"In the sand?" Anakin asked, already disgusted.

"Yes, in the sand, Skywalker," Hondo answered. Then he turned to Buuca. "We try the walker today."

"Next week," Buuca pleaded, his voice even and firm. "He's not—"

"I'm ready," Anakin blurted. He didn't want to hear those words. Not from Buuca. "I want to try it. What's the worst that could happen?"

Silence.

"Anyway," Anakin pressed on, working past the two pirate's glaring at each other. "What are the sticks for?"

Buuca, sighing, helped Anakin into the lowering chair and took the remote, carefully raising him to dry ground once again. Anakin shivered, but more out of excitement than cold. His body was warm and energized, his mind clear.

"What are the sticks for?" he asked again. Hondo only smiled.

Buuca, under Hondo's thumb completely, took the walker from the brigand's hands. Almost in a whisper, Buuca leaned into his minor's shoulder.

"Sometimes, brother, I _do_ know what I am doing."

Anakin went pale. "You-you two are _brothers?_ "

Now that the word had been spoken, he could see the resemblance without a doubt. Their eyes crinkled around the edges in the same way when they smiled, their vocabulary impeccable in comparison to the rest of the crew. They dressed similar—though Buuca's pants were still needlessly baggy—and gestured the same. They shared that look brothers share when they need to say something but don't have any need for words.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before!" he exclaimed jovially. Hondo rolled his eyes, motioning for Buuca to hand Anakin the walker. "Who is the older one?"

"Me," Buuca said as he, with a few different tries, helped Anakin hold onto the grips correctly. "I was here when the galaxy was formed."

Anakin smirked. He suddenly felt as if he had stumbled into a safe space. Nothing had changed—one single word had changed the look of the whole room.

"Oh ho!" Hondo protested with an idle wagging finger. "The galaxy doesn't even remember you—me on the other hand, they'll know me as a legend."

"You read too many brain-frying books."

"And you read too little!"

Anakin watched the brothers chortle and fire dialogue, their lack of attention making him feel daring. Dragging himself forward on the lowering chair, Anakin clutched the handles and heaved himself upright, just like he had practiced with the bars in the pool. He stood.

Three mouths dropped open, one of them being himself.

"I did it…" he murmured, his success fresh and almost confusing. "Did you see that? I did it!"

Hondo clapped Buuca on the back, Buuca shook a fist in triumph. Anakin laughed, not daring to take much more than a step or two from the chair in case he felt weak, and had to sit down. All of his body's weight rested on his two, skinny, feeble legs.

"What now?" Anakin inquired, feeling immortal once again. He was standing on his own will and power. Hondo threw one of the sticks and him, but too afraid to let go of the walker, Anakin let it hit his bare chest and then clatter to the floor. He also didn't dare bend over to pick it up. Buuca, giving an exasperated look to his brother, walked over to pick it up for Anakin, weaving it between his clenched fingers.

"Know your body," Buuca admonished quietly before walking away to sit where Hondo usually sat, on the metal stood against the wall. He looked tired, lost in thought. Hondo on the other hand, looked delighted.

"Now, my very young friend, we fight!"

Anakin almost laughed at Hondo's words before he was hit five times in quick succession: chest, leg, face, arm, chin. The word _ow_ was at Anakin's lips, but didn't dare come out.

He needed a defensive stance, he decided looking at his feet for back up. They were unsteadily keeping him upright—he had no confidence in their ability to react as part of his reflexes.

Using the walker like he would the bars in the pool, Anakin shuffled out his right foot in front of him, then his back. He moved his hand slowly to a grip in the middle of the walker's two bars, steadying himself so that he held the stick in his lightsaber hand. He tried not to think about the clear quiver in his stance.

"You're enemies wouldn't give you that much time," Hondo tsked. "Faster. Use what you know and adapt."

Anakin blocked the next three blows, ducking and clashing with his weapon. His legs, unable to respond to his brain's commands, stayed locked in his original position, causing him to twist and lose his equilibrium. With a last second decision, Anakin let himself fall, grabbed onto Hondo's shirt, and used it to push himself back into his footing. He held his stick in front of him.

"Is that all you've got?"

"Oh, very good, Eiken," Hondo applauded. "Well—" He stopped. Dropped his stick.

"Who's Eiken?" Anakin asked slowly, judging by the reaction Eiken was someone important. "Is that who all of this stuff is for? The friend you knew?"

Buuca looked steadily from Hondo's shocked from to Anakin's. "Our brother."

Hondo turned away, feigning carelessness. "We're done for today. Clean him up and take him away."

Buuca started to say something, but sighed instead. With resignation, he helped Anakin back into his tunic, and the sticks and walker were cast aside.

* * *

Vokara Che stood in front of the Jedi Council, hands clasped behind her back. Master Yoda stared at her with such ferocious, unblinking intensity that she cleared her throat twice, convinced he had simply perished on the spot.

He hadn't, she knew, because he kept _giggling._

"Much to say, have you, Master Che. Speak, speak," he chided, motioning with his small green hand. "Listen, we do, to your concerns."

She smiled graciously, not caring how fake it looked.

"Master Jedi," she said, addressing the seated chair members with a flourish. "I stand here before you today with more requests than I dare voice. Nevertheless, one is more desperate than most: I'm sure you all have noticed Anakin Skywalker's absence."

There was some general mumblings.

"Master Healer, do you have _any idea_ what you are addressing us with?" Mace Windu asked, incredulous. Vokara strutted in a circle, her eyes never leaving the Jedi's. She was the picture of confidence.

 _Of course_ she knew what she was addressing the Council with.

It was all she could think about for the last three days.

Anakin Skywalker going missing was more than just her own personal failure. It was a failure for the Jedi Council, for Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, for the galaxy itself. Him going missing surely meant another important battle lost, another battalion dead, his Padawan in jeopardy.

"Yes, Master Jedi. I do."

Master Yoda giggled again, sliding down from his chair to hobble toward her. She stopped pacing, fearing him simply walking extra steps might push the old Master to overexertion.

 _"Erher_ , care for the young Jedi, you did. The best you could. Now, he walks alone, _hm?"_

Vokara protested. "That is the wrong saying, Master Jedi. The original problem being that the young Jedi _cannot walk at all."_ The Council bristled. Vokara collected herself quickly. "What I mean to say is that Skywalker's whereabouts should be one of our utmost concerns. The assurance that Kenobi is with him means nothing to—"

"Our utmost concern is, Master Healer, that we end this war. Skywalker being in it, or being missing from it, is not our concern," Mace Windu argued, his eyes dark and forceful. Vokara sniffed.

"As his primary caregiver, I feel obligated to heal him to my best ability. I was not able to complete Skywalker's treatment."

Yoda held up his hand once again, stopping her rebuttal. "The Kaminoans had plans, yes? Risky plans. Unfortunate, Skywalker's disappearance is."

"Where are the Kaminoan plans now, Master Healer?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, leaning forward in his seat. Vokara blinked.

The Kaminoans pricey experiments sat on her desk pointedly rejected, their torture device looking braces and medical procedures scribbled out and refuted with ink on page. She was not a fool.

Those treatments would kill him.

"I have not decided on any course of action yet. I am still convinced that the use of Force Crystals will be…" she trailed off, hearing the near-silent moans of the Council. How many times had she appeared before them, asking for advice on the use of the Force?

How many times had it been related to Skywalker alone?

"Do not negotiate any deals unless Skywalker is found," Master Windu ordered, pointing a finger at Vokara's chest. "We have no guarantees that he will."

"If we sent a pilot or Jedi to trace their steps, perhaps we could—"

"We will do no such thing!" Mace fired back, hands gripping the edge of his chair. The Council members stared. "Skywalker has used up more patience and resources from us than he deserves. He is stubborn and unyielding, not to mention crippled."

"Paralyzed," Vokara corrected through gritted teeth. "Skywalker is paralyzed."

Master Windu waved his hand, as if to say _'Same thing.'_

"Dismissed, you are, Master Healer. Think on this, we must," Yoda said after what felt like stretching minutes of silence. He watched her carefully, studying her, analyzing her every breath. "Much research, you must have, _hm?_ "

Vokara bowed stiffly, before whisking herself out of the Council room.

Away from Yoda's piercing stare.

How could a being make her— _strong, overconfident, Vokara Che_ —feel so self-conscious?


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

On Oct. 17, 2018 - if you've read chapter 26 before this date, you might want to reread it. A large part of the story didn't copy over from my document, but is now appropriately uploaded. I apologize for the inconvenience.

* * *

Unconsciously, Anakin and Obi-Wan fell into routine.

Wake each other up, scarf questionable food, Anakin gets dragged away by a band of pirates, does therapy until he can't feel any part of his body, gets returned to the cell in his soaking wet clothes, and falls asleep.

Every seven hours.

They had no track of days, judging passage of time by the appearance of pirates in the small window, or the grumble of their stomachs. Obi-Wan sat alone then, waiting anxiously for Anakin to get unceremoniously dumped back into the cell, chained up and dripping wet and yet looking _so strong_ , nearly completing their seven-hourly cycle.

He yearned to hear every detail, to see the progress in person. Instead, he gleaned snapshots of success between the young man's yawns. He longed to grip Anakin's hands reassuringly, tell him how proud he was of him.

He had walked.

From Anakin's mouth, it was the highest achievement. His eyes glowed despite his exhaustion, as he recounted the session, and then the next, progressing so rapidly that even the therapist had been stunned. Obi-Wan had smiled, bursting with admiration, but unable to do much more than tell his former Padawan how proud, how absolutely proud he was of him.

 _"Not just because you've taken steps," he had said. "But because of how you've grown."_

Anakin had stretched out on the disgusting cell floor—which now smelled like rotten meat—and smiled back. Without even complaining about sleep, he had closed his eyes. Leaving Obi-Wan alone again, not to sleep but to stay unblinkingly awake. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept a full night, and without the Force to keep him strong, it was beginning to wear on him. He was jumpy. Irritable.

There was a creak in the hallway, then the echoing sound of footsteps. He sat up, trying to blink away the fogginess of his mind. He had to be alert—he had promised Anakin that, and it was the least he could do as Anakin nearly drown himself over and over with Obi-Wan in mind.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice quiet and still bouncing around in the halls. "Anakin is that you."

Anakin's clear voice returned tenfold: "Master!"

 _Master, master master, ma'ter, ter, er,_ continued the hall.

 _Force, keep him strong,_ Obi-Wan prayed, as the routine demanded. He sat still, chained hands in his lap, his back straight against the wall. Waiting for the relief that Anakin was unharmed was worse than the somber sight each time.

The same pirates walked through the door, Dagg and Nameless, as Obi-Wan had taken to calling them. They were among the few constants in Obi-Wan's mind, though they weren't necessarily welcomed. Until he found a way out of his chains, they were his clock, his promise of another day, as miserable as every minute might have been. They held Anakin between them as he squirmed and cursed, their sneers outright and dangerous.

Anakin was fine.

Wet, cranky, tired? Undoubtedly. Sore, waterlogged, hungry? Most likely. Yet all Obi-Wan saw was the spark in his friend's eyes, the uncompromised health and courage he exuded.

 _"Crinking_ Jedi," Nameless growled as they tossed the young man into the cell, onto the stained, soupy floor. "Enjoy your nap, brat."

Anakin smiled coolly. "Bug off."

And they left, their eyes promising something Obi-Wan couldn't understand in his Force-less position. He agonizingly watched Anakin struggled on the ground, his arms trembling with fatigue, as he tried to sit upright. The limited range of motion due to chains did no favors.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said slowly as his former Padawan settled onto his back, and he awaited the fluttering of his eyelids.

"Master?"

"How do you feel?"

Anakin paused, presumably thinking about the burning in his legs, the ache of his abdomen, the ocean in his ears—all things he had said before when Obi-Wan asked the routinely question. "I feel all wrong."

Obi-Wan nearly flinched, an unforgiving sin in a shock collar. "I beg your pardon?" he choked, watching Anakin's grim expression. _He wasn't injured further,_ Obi-Wan attempted to convince himself. _Wrong does not mean hurt._ "Was it something someone said?"

"No," Anakin answered. Even without the Force Obi-Wan knew a lie.

"Anakin, those men hold no stock in your future. You alone decide who you are."

"And the Force," Anakin amended. Obi-Wan obliged.

"And the Force."

There was a beat of silence.

"Master, they said they I should be ashamed of every breath I took," Anakin mumbled, his words tumbling gracelessly from his mouth. "And I can't help but think that I'm just prolonging the inevitable—and besides, Leo is just out there, probably risking his life to get us out. And-and-" Anakin stuttered through the last part. "And I'm _enjoying myself_ , Master. I feel strong. I feel…I feel like myself again, when I walk in that pool."

"Leo is a brilliant young man, _and_ a formidable soldier," Obi-Wan commented, his mind still processing Anakin's outburst. "And we are just as responsible for our wellbeing as he is."

"And I'm just so blasted tired all the time."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if Anakin ignored his advice or if he was just too exhausted to argue. He watched as Anakin's eyelids started to droop, his breathing evening out.

 _Sleep, young one_ , Obi-Wan thought, his mind's eye letting him imagine himself pushing away Anakin's wet locks, pulling a cloak over his shivering body. He had been all too hapless of a master, and now friend. He had thought he had paid the price of his shortcomings _. The Force works in mysterious ways,_ he reminded himself. _And someday all will become clear to you._

Obi-Wan leaned his head against the unforgiving cell wall. His head was pounding, the back of his eyes burning from staying open so long. The seven hour cycle had barely begun again, and he was losing his faith in the Force's mysterious ways.

Stay awake a little longer, Obi-Wan pleaded with himself. You are one with the Force, and it is with you. Stay strong. Stay awake.

He kept his eyes trained on the slight crack of light in the door, and began his vigil once again.

* * *

Leo's heart pounded as he held his blaster over his ribs, an extra piece of protection in case his heart decided to jump out of his chest. He could see the prison halls.

Just to get here…

His hands felt sticky and warm, the blaster almost melting into his palms. His now scruffy face, his stolen pirate garb (all from different pirates, to make it less suspicious) scratched at his skin. His helmet and goggles hid most of his face from view. He had no long braids cascading down his back, so he had flipped the collar of his jacket up. Conspicuous, but not over familiar. He didn't want to be approached, only pirate enough to slide by.

He had seen the signs from Anakin.

 _Help. Obi-Wan. Prisoner._

The stubborn General had signed he was fine, which Leo had figured was a grand stretch of truth. His hands had been chained. And blast it all, Leo had come along to protect the man, not watch him from afar, signing promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

 _Kriff,_ he was going to try, but he was a cripple.

His trigger finger was somewhere sleeping with clanker remains. His remaining hand was inaccurate and heavy with a gun. He was back to closing an eye to get his target—something he hadn't done since his training years back in his squadron. Leo was back to being "Blue," the kid who would hold his breath until he got his shots in.

And even if—even if—his shots rang true, his bullet chamber was near empty. He couldn't afford a heated shootout, let alone a battle. Forced into a stealth mode completely foreign to a battle-trained man, he had crept around corridors, following closely behind gossiping pirate groups, or took apart crate shipments with the large working grunts. One time, he thought he was helping carry a part of their ship's wing to be melted down.

All the while, imaging the worst of what might be happening to his generals.

The gun had turned to liquid in his hands now, looking so funny and futile in his wrong hand. He had to do this. _He had to do this._

He inspected his blaster one last time, a habit of "Blue," and with a start noticed his transmission piece blinking.

Leo quickly stuffed his blaster in his belt and squeaked as he realized he had no hand to press the incoming message. Sprinting out of the echoing prison hall, he watched the light flicker twice, three times, four.

Desperately he slammed his forearm against the metal wall.

 _"This is Ahsoka Tano, do you copy? This is Ahsoka Tano."_

"Y-yeah, yeah! This is RC-1300—Leo, Commander. I copy." Leo's heart was going to burst, it was pumping so fast and loud.

 _"Thank the Force, you're all right!"_

"I could say the same for you, Commander!"

They both caught their breath, excited and over stimulated with nerves and joy. Ahsoka recovered first.

 _"Where is General Kenobi and Skywalker?"_ she asked breathlessly. _"Are they injured? Are you in contact?"_

"No, Commander," Leo answered dejectedly. "It's been four days by my count, and we got separated within hours of getting on board."

 _"Okay, okay."_ She gathered herself. _"Do you know your coordinates?"_

"Not exactly, though I could give an estimate." He gave her where he figured they were, according to what he glimpsed through the saucer's few windows.

 _"I'm almost there, then!"_ she cried, relieved.

Leo was weary. "Commander, we're prisoners here. You won't be welcome."

Ahsoka laughed. _"Have you heard what I've done? I'm not welcomed anywhere in the galaxy. Hondo's hospitality will be a breath of fresh air."_

Leo let out a breath he was holding. "Blue" seemed to be alive and well.

 _"Leo, are you still there?"_

"Yes, Commander."

 _"Get the message to Obi-Wan that I'm coming. Tell no one else."_

"What about General Skywalker?"

 _"No one else, Leo."_

Leo leaned against the wall, his blaster feeling heavy in his belt. "Sir yes sir."

 _"Don't lose hope yet, Leo. I won't let you down."_

"Nor will I, Commander."

Commander Tano cut the transmission, and again all Leo could hear was the beat of his heart. He rechecked his blaster. Then, checking all his corners, he slunk back into the prison hall.

The windows were such small slits that Leo practically had to be in the cell before he could see the contents of the confines. Half way through, he spotted a trail of dark liquid. His eyes got wide.

 _Blood?_

Leaning over the puddles, the smell of chlorine stuck in his nose. Water. _Chlorinated_ water.

He looked down the trail of water, finding it led to a cell on the far end of the hall. Following a hunch he couldn't believe could be true, Leo crept down the hall and called out quietly.

"Generals?" There was no response. Leo swallowed hard. _"Generals?"_

"Leo?" came a quiet response. With the echo, it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Leo leaned into the small slit of a window, his feet sloshing in the puddles at the door.

General Kenobi sat in chains, perfectly regal against the wall of the cell, facing him with a dignity Leo could have never imagined in this setting. His beard was dirty, his hair was unkempt, but he looked fine.

"Good to see you, Sir," Leo said curtly, though he couldn't hide the grin on his face. "I've got a message from Commander Tano."

"She's in contact?" The Jedi asked incredulously. Leo nodded excitedly.

"Yessir. She told me to tell you she's coming, and less than a parsec away. Hold in there, Sir. I swear it won't be long now."

Obi-Wan smiled at the ceiling. "Leo, Anakin's taken to walking. They're not torturing us, they're giving therapy to Anakin."

Leo blinked. "What?"

"It's true. He's been walking. He's done stances. He's getting strong."

Leo thought of all the nightmare-like situations he had imagined them in—strung up from the ceiling, stuck down on torturing devices. Never had he imagined this.

"You're sure?" Leo asked. He wasn't disappointed just… perplexed.

"Yes, I'm sure," Obi-Wan said warmly. "Leo, you've stayed safe?"

"And hidden, Sir."

"Good," he said, then firmly. "Stay that way. Now is not the time for a jail break."

Leo worked his jaw. "I'm sorry, Sir?" What did he mean, _now is not the time?_

"Give us until Ahsoka gets here," Obi-Wan petitioned. "I will be worth nothing if I don't sleep."

"Yessir," Leo obliged. "Where do I go until then?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, seemingly already asleep. "Not here. Head toward the docking area."

"Yessir."

And with a nod, the Jedi was asleep, leaving Leo to slink back into the shadows, to become completely invisible, until the Commander arrived.

He tucked his head down and walked briskly out of the prison halls, brushing shoulders with two pirates on their way in.

"'Scuse me," he mumbled. The pirates barely noticed.

Not wanting to test his luck, Leo turned and ran.

* * *

 _"Ghkuu!"_

 _Obi-Wan. That was Obi-Wan._

Anakin wrenched himself from sleep, certain he had heard Obi-Wan's distressed cry. Blinking at top speed to clear the fog from his eyes, he scanned the cell for his friend.

What he saw was the swollen, purple face of Obi-Wan Kenobi—the Negotiator—who most definitely had failed at his namesake.

Anakin quickly catalogued the rest of the scene: Two pirates with pipes as long as Anakin's forearm, and just as thick, in their hands. Smirking. Lazily turning around to meet Anakin's fearful gaze. Obi-Wan's distorted expression still came across clear: _Show nothing. Say nothing. I am fine._

Anakin shoved his anger down quickly, stuffing into storage in case of a fight. Obi-Wan was not handling this. Obi-Wan was not fine. And definitely, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not going to be capable of keeping his mouth shut.

And Obi-Wan had _promised._

While Anakin was certain he had fallen asleep by himself—exhausted, hungry, frustrated, and crushed made for no energy left to argue with his body—and Obi-Wan's futile attempts at giving true sleep suggestions had only succeeded in letting Anakin know he was safe, he was certain somehow he had been put under. Obi-Wan promised to wake him up if something happened.

And, _what the kriff,_ Anakin slept _lightly._ How had he missed Obi-Wan getting beaten to a black-and-blue pulp?

Guilt gnawed away at Anakin's reason.

"Hey," he started. _Good start._ He could almost see Obi-Wan's eyes roll through his puffy eyelids. "Can I ask what you think you're doing?"

"Have a nice nap, princess?" Dagg asked, ignoring Anakin's question. Probably because he, in his thick nature, had been rehearsing that one line for the entirety of Anakin's nap.

"I asked you a question," Anakin said, by way of answering. His tone hinted at darkness the two thugs didn't catch.

 _"Oi, you're_ in no position to be asking questions." The other pirate, Nameless, shook his braided ponytail back and forth, slapping his pipe menacingly on his palm.

"And my friend is in no state to argue." His teeth clenched. Hissing out the warning. Obi-Wan slumping against the wall. All before the pipe swung at his face.

It hit him square in the jaw, right over the line of disintegrated stitches. He felt his skin snap open almost simultaneously, blood oozing in myriads and rivulets down his chin and onto his tunic. His mouth hung open—from shock or pain, he wasn't sure. Tears had sprung up in his eyes.

"That," the pirate almost drooled with glee, "was so you keep your _crinking_ mouth shut."

Anakin could see his brilliant red blood on the pipe, washed haphazardly over Obi-Wan's (and Force knows who else's) rusted color. Strangely, he felt a rush of possessiveness: that was _his_ blood.

"Won'tcha look at that one?" Anakin couldn't keep track of which pirate was speaking, only that they were, which mean that they weren't hurting Obi-Wan.

"A real beauty, yeah? So delicate—look he's _crying!_ _Aw."_

Anakin curled up, then, ignoring the warnings of cracking energy around him. He was an object. He was the distraction. Obi-Wan was safe as long as they kept their attention on him.

"I'm bleeding," Anakin squeaked. _Choose words carefully. Keep the attention. Nothing can hurt you worse than losing Obi-Wan._

"Oi, did you hear that Daggie? He's _bloody bleeding."_

Raucous laughter. It echoed in his pulsing jaw, making him cringe.

"Bloody bleeding! He's bloody bleeding!" Jeering. Obi-Wan's eye's closed.

Anakin's heart seized up. _He couldn't feel anything._ The Force was dim and simmering just out of his reach. Obi-Wan could be dead. He wouldn't know.

"Heh," the pirate chuckled, wiping his eyes with his filthy fingers. "Oh, that was brilliant. Too good." Anakin couldn't agree less.

"Bloody bleedin' Skywalker, mouth too big for his own good," the other said.

"Isn't that the truth," Obi-Wan jumped in, eyes still closed. Anakin's heart leapt into his throat.

 _Obi-Wan._

The attention shifted slightly, though not all the way back to the older Jedi, just enough for the pirates to grin.

"Yeah. It is."

"Don't touch Obi-Wan," Anakin growled, raising up slightly from the wall. "Don't touch him or I'll—"

The pipe swung at him again and he ducked, the cold metal swishing over his head. It sent his world spinning, and when the second hit came, his saw six pipes instead of two.

They hit him everywhere: his ribs and arms and head, his useless, unclothed legs and hips, his face. He tasted blood in his mouth, smelled it in the air, felt it slick on his skin.

He separated himself delicately, pulling away from the blood and Obi-Wan and the pirates and the cell. His eyes glazed over, his brain went to static. He was an object. His body meant nothing. He was far, far away…

 _Anakin saw his old room. His bed, his small desk full of handmade tools and parts. There was C-3PO, all of his wires and innards showing. He still only had one eye. His mother walked into the room, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her best dress._

 _"Ani," she said softly. "What did they do to you?"_

 _She crossed the room swiftly, grabbed the water pitcher and a cloth, and bent over Anakin's body. For the first time, Anakin looked down at himself. He expected himself to be old, to be his present self, but he was nine again, his small wrapped legs cut open at the knees, gravel pressed inside the cuts. He didn't realize he was holding onto his arms gingerly. He could barely feel the pain._

 _"Was it a whip?" his mother asked, concerned. Anakin didn't respond. He kept eye contact, never waivered in it, but would not speak even as his mother went through weapon after weapon. "A stick? Fists? Ani, tell me so that I can help."_

 _But he was inside of himself. He couldn't come out yet, not until the gravel was gone. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't make a sound. He was an object. His body meant nothing. He was far, far away. In a ship of his own, the stars shimmering around him as he flew past them, making their shining forms jealous of his speed._

Anakin heard a crunch.

 _You're far away,_ Anakin insisted, feeling sweaty and sick. _You're so far away._

 _His mother soaked the cloth in the water pitcher and rubbed the coolness onto his knees, bits of crimson dirt dislodging themselves and instead clinging to the fabric. Anakin didn't cry, only shook, arms still latched together. When his mother finished with his knees she asked to see his arms._

 _"Let me help you, Ani."_

 _Anakin shook his head, eyes latched into C-3PO's half-finished body. He had switched himself off too. His mother couldn't understand that. It was the only way to survive._

 _"Ani," his mother said again, taking his arms gently into her hands. He let them unlock, limply falling into his mother's grasp. They were covered in bruises, some as big as his fist, red, purple, blue, green. His mother didn't flinch._

 _She must have switched herself off, too, Anakin thought as his mother held her son's mottled arms in her hands. Carefully, she pressed her fingertips into Anakin's neck—_

"What is this?!" came the roar from outside of Anakin's trance. The door to the cell had been swung open and Anakin saw Hondo—fully enraged—one hand on Anakin's neck, checking his pulse. The other held a pirate by the scruff.

Anakin's eyes fluttered, struggling to catch the scene unfolding. He moaned, stiffening when a lightning bolt of pain crashed through his body. He felt like throwing up.

The pirate in Hondo's hands spit on Anakin's crumpled legs. He never felt it, but flinched anyway.

 _"Crinking_ Jedi," he shouted maniacally. "Always think they'se better than us! Well, look at you, Skywalker. Crawling around on the ground and can't even get his pants on! Bloody bleeding, its what you are now. All you're good for."

Hondo seethed, reeled back, and punched him in the face. The pirate smiled and spit out a rotten tooth onto the cell floor.

"Bloody Eiken was the same way."

Hondo pulled the pirate closer, fully enraged. "How _dare you_ speak his name." The pirate watched in horror as Hondo pulled out his blaster, wagged it in front of his face, and shot him. One clean shot. Dead.

Then, nearly tossing the pirate to one of his men Hondo ordered the chains to be taken off, the two Jedi to be taken to the infirmary, and for the other offending pirate to be 'taken care of.'

Obi-Wan grunted in discomfort as the pirates unlatched him from the wall, the Force inhibitors deactivating slowly. Relief flooded him as the Force emerged from boiling nothingness to full power. He went about setting up his mental shields quickly, already feeling Anakin's mind probing to see how hurt his former mentor was.

"Get out of my head," Obi-Wan croaked, his voice barely heard over the din of pirates at work. He looked to Anakin, expecting to see a smirk.

Anakin's face had gone pale.

"Oh Force," Anakin moaned. "Oh Force, it's my leg, isn't it?"

Hondo blanched as he looked where Skywalker directed. His left shin was dented inward, cracked and pooling with internal bleeding. The Jedi pounded his chained fists on the ground; eyes shut tight, teeth clenched. Tears stood in his eyes threatening to fall. Purple, angry reds, dark blacks.

Obi-Wan looked to Hondo. "Take off my chains, Hondo. I can help him."

Hondo guffawed. "You can barely sit up. Stay until my brother unchains you. No, do not move yet, Kenobi. You're collar hasn't been deactivated."

Obi-Wan keened a sorrow-filled note. Straining against his bonds as the pirate _who had no right to touch Anakin_ bent over Anakin's broken leg and assessed the damage, hand hovering over the wound. Obi-Wan watched helplessly as Anakin tried to press himself into the wall, his Force inhibitors having been removed. Even with inhibitors on, Obi-Wan could feel the reeling nausea.

Soon an older, grayer pirate bent before him, blocking Anakin from Obi-Wan's view. He had a gentle face, though it was distraught with wrinkles. He worked fast though his hands shook. Obi-Wan thought he looked furious, disbelieving, as he pressed the key into the last latch, and Obi-Wan was free.

He might have strangled them all, if he wasn't so weak.

The lack of food, the lack of sleep, it all rushed back to him so quickly his head spun. He tried to supplement with the Force, but it was slippery in his grasp. His hands and feet didn't coordinate. His body—made to sit for however long unmoving—was a demon. Finally collapsing back into a heap of guilt and misery, Obi-Wan devoured the feelings in his body, grasping them firmly and pulling them toward himself. He felt the pulsing of life beneath his bruised flesh, the waves of Anakin's pain tripping over his mental blockade. With a shove, Obi-Wan pushed all of his calm, all his healing, all his hope into Anakin who stifled a groan, and slumped into Hondo's arms. The gray pirate turned from Obi-Wan.

"Let this all be a bad dream," the man said, placing his unsteady hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder for a brief second. Obi-Wan was too spent to respond.

They were both loaded onto stretchers, their vital signs monitored by the old pirate and Hondo himself, who had left his ever-present helmet behind in the cell. Hondo looked older without it, Obi-Wan thought deliriously.

Pirates skittered out of the way in troves, eyeing the strange parade with caution and curiosity. Anakin's moans caused snickers that turned into somber expressions as they flew past. Hondo would snarl at all of them.

Hypospray.

The icy, pinprick at his neck sent a flurry of panic through him.

"Drug?" Obi-Wan demanded, half-lucid. The old pirate looked down over him.

"Drug," he conceded but did not reveal. Obi-Wan could already feel the invisible strings tying him down—his eyelids, his arms, his legs, his head.

The arching ceiling of the docking area flew above him, and he thought of his grave error. If he had let Leo pick the locks, had woken Anakin up and neglected sleep for a few more hours, they would be standing in the loading dock, not lying broken on stretchers.

If he would have said to Anakin that it was more important for him to stay at the Halls of Healing than for him to go find Ahsoka and Rex; if he had made sure that they had a calculated plan for Anakin's mental health; if he had been at Anakin's side during that unspeakable battle…

The 'ifs' were heavier than the drug in system.

Anakin twisted on the stretcher, not daring to open his eyes. Every vein in him felt nauseous, as if he had gotten the flu but _so much worse._ He shouldn't have looked at his leg. He shouldn't have reached into himself and probed for the pain.

The mental catalogue was useless now, something Obi-Wan had taught him back when he was a Padawan, that the epicenter was proven to be his leg.

What was worse was he was making progress.

He had pushed himself, fought to get better. He had taken steps, walked long paces in water. His arms had felt sore and strong. He had had every intention of taking Hondo up on his promise of braces, crutches, or walker. He said within a week.

A week.

Then in seconds, all of his progress was reversed. Because of what?

Because he couldn't keep his _kriffing_ mouth shut.

Anakin moaned again, clutching his head with white knuckles. His anger pulsed behind his forehead. Hondo's shadow casted a blue streak in his otherwise red, red world. He was talking in a low voice, his hand on Anakin's chest, but he wasn't interested in hearing what he had to say.

The nausea fluctuated between unbearable and all consuming. He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up. He was going to—

"Skywalker!" Hondo growled, making Anakin's inner monologue stop abruptly. "Anakin, listen to me. Tell me you're listening."

 _"Yeah,"_ he whimpered.

"This sets you back, I know you've already thought of that. Listen to me: you cannot give up because of this. We will work together through the pain, and you will walk. Promise me you will fight."

"Because you're brother didn't?" Anakin guessed, his speech coming out in harsh bursts. "Be-because he killed himself instead?"

"No," Hondo gripped the side of Anakin's swollen face too harshly. He was out of practice. "Because the galaxy needs you to fight. Eiken was selfish. I cannot say the same about you."

The red world was turning fuzzily black at the edges even before Anakin felt the hypospray at his neck. He barely fought, bile rising in his throat even as he thought about the effort. His body had betrayed him, Anakin accused. The galaxy had betrayed him.

But as Hondo shook him lightly, saying: "Promise me, Anakin," he found himself squeezing his hand into the pirate's gnarly palm.

 _I promise_ was on the tip of his tongue.

 _"I'm gonna throw up,"_ was what came out.

Hondo backed up in intensity, yanking his hand out of Anakin's. "No, you're not, Skywalker."

And he was right. As Anakin dreaded the sight of the mysterious food he had been given for the last few days, the red and black went white. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he was unconscious before they made it to the infirmary.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

After the impromptu operation, Rex was slow to gain full consciousness. Days swam by in foggy, vague glimpses of Senator Padmé Amidala and a yellow-eyed droid. When the glimpses became hours, and the hours a day, he started to feel the real pain of the operation he knew he had, but couldn't quite put his finger on.

There was a large scar trailing down his chest.

The Senator now helped him hold a cup in his trembling, gauze-wrapped hands. His chest was still tender from his cracked ribs, and his head still pounded when he sat up; he still took shallow breaths because when he sucked in too deep a breath, he dissolved into a fit of coughing.

"Thank you, Senator," he said softly, taking a sip of water. She nodded. The Senator was twitchy, constantly looking toward the exit. She had told him about her unexpected meeting with General Windu.

 _"I-I had blood on my hands,"_ she had said. _"He must've seen it—I'm so sorry, Rex. I should have been more careful."_

 _"Nothin' you could have done, ma'am."_ Rex was certain of that. She was already risking her life hiding him near her.

The Senator took the cup away. Rex remained sitting upright—no small feat—and they smiled at each other. Tight, small smiles.

"You're getting better," she encouraged. "I can't believe how far you've come."

"All thanks to you."

She stood, walking toward the exit.

"I'll be back to check on you after the Senate debate. It shouldn't be long. The droid should be charged and ready in a few minutes to look after you."

Rex gave a weary nod. A droid, babysit him? Not on his life.

He settled back into his cot, feeling the hard ground beneath him as he shifted. "Not long" in Senate terms meant a few hours.

He heard the grate slide closed.

Rex never was one that could sleep just anywhere, anytime. On the battlefield, he wouldn't catch a wink. On a ship? Never. When aboard the Resolute, he often found General Skywalker awake as well—more often from nightmares than distrust of security. If he wasn't drugged and wasn't in the barracks…

But even as he thought, he knew he was drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Padmé nodded elegantly to the few Senate members that still met her gaze. The amphitheater was becoming more and more a hostile place; not a place for orderly democracy, but for arguing and insults. This wasn't the Senate she had admired. It was something else entirely.

Her moment to argue for Anakin's rights had come and gone. They had entertained her sympathy for three meetings—which was more than she could have hoped for with Palpatine gone—before blowing her off to the side. The ads still stood in their neon glory all around the galaxy. Propaganda for an unwinnable war.

She was certain of that now.

Whatever battle they had thought they were fighting was long gone. The problem at hand was not fixable with droids, clones, battle stations or otherwise. They needed beings—real, honest beings—to sit down and _talk_ about the chaos around them, not whatever the Senate was bickering about now. What was it today, of security for local credit banks?

Ignorance and hatred were winning.

The whole galaxy was losing.

And Padmé could have sworn she knew who the key to ending it all was.

As she weaved her way through senators to her seat, she spotted two clone troopers, fully armed. One pointed at her and leaned in to talk into his transmitter.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

 _They're just clones,_ she told herself. _Clones are soldiers of the Republic. You work to protect the Republic. So they should protect you._

And yet…

She could picture Rex lying in the secret tunnels, Master Windu hovering over the grate, lightsaber itching at his belt.

She only saw clones.

But a Jedi couldn't be far behind.

She turned into the nearest flow of people, walking away from the pair of soldiers and back toward her quarters. There was no way to alert Rex—and Force, what did that medical droid know about fending off Jedi?

She rounded the corner, picking up the fabric of her ridiculous outfit. Why hadn't she chosen to wear sensible shoes?

Padmé picked them off her feet and tossed them in the opposite direction, nearly hitting a pair of Twi'lek ambassadors.

Her hallway came into view, with its cracked pillars and crumbling ceiling from Ahsoka's break-in. She twisted her key into her keypad. Her fingers were dumb with nerves.

Rex could have already been found. He could be dead.

Her door slid open.

She rushed inside, hands on her gun. The room was empty. She jammed the door before rushing to the grate. It was still in place. She yanked it off and clambered inside.

Rex lay still on his cot, breathing slowly. The clueless droid charged beside him.

"Rex, we have to go," she said, shaking him. He awoke blearily.

"That was a quick meeting," he mumbled. Padmé stood, gathered what medical supplies were lying around. Rex watched her, eyes growing wider with the recognition of her words.

"I've been found out," he said in a low voice. He wasn't asking.

"There were two clone troopers. One pointed at me. That's all I know."

"A Jedi can't be far behind them," Rex finished her thought. She nodded. "I don't know if I can run, Senator. You get out of here—I'll give myself up."

Padmé paused, looking at the gauze-covered, scarred soldier of the Republic.

"You don't have to, Rex. I'll get you out of here."

She offered him her arm and he took it gingerly, wincing. When he was steady on his feet, she swung her measly bag of supplies over her shoulder and they scuttled into the darkness of the tunnel system.

They didn't bring a light, fearing it would give them away. Every other tunnel, the Senate's debate roared through the vents, and both would flinch at the voices. Rex swayed, leaning heavily on Padmé. He kept his breaths quiet, though Padmé could tell his chest was heaving.

"Rex," Padmé said. "Rex, stop. We're far enough underground for now."

Rex wouldn't meet her eyes. "Senator, if I stop now I won't start again."

So they kept fleeing.

Deeper into the tunnel system they went, deeper into Coruscant's core. Padmé's bare feet ached from the pounding on the cold metal. Rex's silent resilience had given way to stumbling, moaning, clutching his chest. She would think she'd seen daylight, only to find another grate full of Senate lights and sounds. If anything was going their way, it was that no alarms had been sounded.

"Almost there, Rex," Padmé said. Rex smiled, but it was crooked on his healing face. "I have a ship waiting at the docks, we can get off of Coruscant's surface and find somewhere for you to heal."

Rex laid a heavy hand on his knee. "How far are we from the docks?"

"Not far now."

Rex collapsed against the wall, arms hugging his pounding chest in relief. His head swam, tears swelled in his eyes, and his legs went useless. Padmé stood over him, backpack half-full of medical supplies slung off and ready to use. Rex tried to wave her off, but without the pressure on his ribs he felt like he might implode.

He was wheezing louder now. Loud enough to call unwanted attention.

"Rex!" Padmé's voice sounded distant, like he was slipping under water. "Rex I see lights. I _need you to stand up."_

Rex moaned, feeling his ribs crackle under his grip.

"Rex!"

It was true. Rex could see the bouncing lights coming closer, blinding them.

"Put your hands up, both of you!"

Padmé whipped around. Rex hung his head.

"Boys," Rex said. As their eyes adjusted, he saw two clones dressed in shiny new uniforms. "You've got me. I can't fight back—the Senator, too. I need you boys to do one last thing for me. Take your helmets off."

Padmé looked at him, fear in her eyes. "Rex, don't do this."

The clones looked up and down at the Captain, then slowly lifted off their helmets to reveal their faces in their helmet's lights.

Fives and Echo.

Rex swallowed. This would have been easier if they were brothers he didn't know. Echo's face was already screaming regret.

"Captain. You're not in a position to be giving last requests," Fives said quietly. Fives had expected a fight, a scuffle in the least. Guns blazing would take his mind off of the fact that the soldier he looked up to was a deserter.

He never expected the resigned, wounded man on the ground. Saying his last requests, his head bowed.

"I know, I know." Rex kept his eyes closed. "Just make sure the Senator gets out of here, and her name is cleared. Tell the boys that I went on my own free will. No one forced me to desert. Tell them…tell them it was for love."

Padmé blinked hard. She wouldn't cry.

Fives shook his head. "We know you better than that, General. Go for love, and end up getting beaten up this bad? What kind of a woman is that?"

"A brave one, soldier."

Padmé blinked harder. Her hands above her head had started to shake.

Rex continued, his eyes open now: "Just promise me you'll get the Senator out, and I'll go without a fight. I can use the gun myself, if that's what it takes."

"Rex, you can't. This was my decision—I take just as much blame as you," Padmé argued. This wasn't right. None of this was right. "Rex _don't do this_."

Fives and Echo exchanged glances. Rex was starting to cough weakly into the crook of his arm. Padmé was trying to think of how to steal the closest weapon.

"I followed Commander Tano into the underbelly of the city. We got ambushed by Count Dooku—no clankers, I know what you were going to ask," Rex held up a weary finger at the two men. "Just Dooku. We spent four days protecting each other from the torture, but…well, you know how Jedi work. They bounce back. I couldn't."

Fives bent down to feel Rex's bandaged chest. "He got you good, Captain."

"Not as good as the Commander will get him. She's out there right now, tracking him down. I just wish I could be out there with her."

Echo frowned. "So you'd desert again. You're not sorry."

 _"Sorry?"_ Rex laughed weakly. "I am sorry. Sorry that this galaxy is changing—and not for the better. Since General Skywalker went down…" Everyone went quiet. The Senate debate wafted through the air, and Padmé cringed. "I'm already too damaged for warfare. My ribs are never going to heal perfect. My lungs can't handle action. You boys will be doing the Republic a service, taking an old clone out of his misery."

"Take that back, Captain," Fives ordered, loading his gun. Echo loaded his as well.

Padmé held her breath.

Rex closed his eyes again.

"How far away is your ship?" Fives asked. "They'll check our guns and they'll check our reports. We'll have to be airtight. Are you armed?" Padmé shook her head. She hadn't packed her blaster. "Blast it, then, we'll shoot ourselves. Take our weapons with you. We'll stage a fight, and you two run like hell."

Rex swore as the two men picked him off the wall and helped him back onto Padmé's shoulder. He wobbled, but managed to stay standing. His mouth tasted like iron.

"You don't have to do this," Rex managed to say. The two men shrugged.

"We know, Captain."

Then Rex turned to Padmé.

"You sure you want to leave all this behind? Force knows they won't welcome you back," he said. Padmé listened to the heat of the debate—more security for local credit banks, she was right—and found the courage to nod.

"There isn't anyone to go back to."

Rex was right. The galaxy was changing.

Echo and Fives put on their helmets and gave a tight salute. Rex returned it slowly, sadly.

"I'll miss you boys."

Fives hoisted his gun. "We'll miss you too, Captain. When this war is over, we'll find whatever cave you're living in and drink caf. How's that sound?"

Padmé felt a lump form in her throat.

Rex choked out a laugh. "Sounds great. I'll see you at the end of the war."

Then quick, successive gunfire echoed all around the tunnels.

 _"Augh!"_

Echo fell to the ground, blood blossoming from his shoulder, his foot. Fives still stood, clutching his side. Both blasters laid abandoned on the floor.

"Run, idiots," Fives hissed. "C'mon, they'll be hot on our trail."

"Who's they?" Padmé asked, but she was already running, Rex plastered to her side. The Senate's rumble had stopped, the alarms blaring. The building would be going into lockdown.

So would the hangar.

"We have to go faster," she muttered. Rex nodded, picking up his dragging feet. The strength he was using had to be pure adrenaline by now.

Bright lights danced ahead of them—the daylight kind, thank the Force—and Padmé started to breathe again. Dragging Rex up to the final grate, she kicked it inward and they dove onto the hangar. Already, ships were being put into lockdown.

Her captain stood waiting at the loading dock, hands tucked behind his back. When he saw her, he ran inside the ship, Padmé and Rex not far behind.

Shots were ringing off.

Rex stumbled on the ramp, legs giving out underneath him. "I can't—"

"I've got you." Padmé tried to swing his arm back over her shoulder, but ended up dragging his near-unconscious body up the rest of the way. Captain Typho sat at the front, cueing the doors to close behind them.

"When you said this was a matter of confidentiality, I wasn't expecting this!" he roared over the prepping engine. Padmé placed Rex on one of the plush leather benches, where he lay limply. She paused, took his wrist, and counted.

He still had a pulse.

She moved to the front of the ship, sitting in the copilot position, flicking through the protocol for an emergency takeoff. Her captain wiped at his forehead, eyes focused on the dashboard of the ship.

The alarms flashed, but there was no sound to them from inside the ship.

"We're jumping to hyperspace the minute we get out of this hangar," Typho said. "I have a feeling I know who we're trying to run from."

Padmé cringed, the bleakness of their situation settling in over her shoulders. They were running from the Republic, the Jedi themselves, a clone army.

More than that, though, they were running from the Separatists, Sith like Palpatine and Dooku, millions of droids and advanced weaponry. They were running from allies and enemies. Or, all enemies now.

She looked at the activated door, slowly sliding shut as their ship shot out of the hangar. They were too late to catch them on Coruscant; nevertheless, there was a whole galaxy of opportunities for revenge.

"Breathe, Padmé."

Coruscant's atmosphere melted into stars before her eyes, and she allowed herself to breathe again. Typho settled into his seat, guided the ship into hyperspace, then patted Padmé on the shoulder.

"You're full of secrets, my lady," he said, chuckling with relief. "And I'll admit, I never would have guessed this one. You're not hiding those two Jedi, too, are you?"

It was meant as a joke, but it still hurt.

No, she couldn't protect them. How _desperately_ she wanted to.

"I'm going to check on the…clone captain," she mumbled, flashing a quick smile she hoped didn't look overly-guilty.

Rex was exactly where she left him, eyes half-closed, lying on his back on the padded benches of her ship. When she stooped over him he reached out and she took his hand in hers.

"I don't know how I'll repay you for everything you've done."

Padmé sniffed, giving another shaky smile. "You rest. We'll talk later."

"Where are we going? There isn't anywhere in this galaxy that hasn't taken sides or wants our heads for money."

"We'll figure it out."

She let go of his hand, looking back out the window. Hyperspace used to thrill her—thinking of all the possibilities, all the places she could go by just hopping aboard a ship and pressing a button. Now, even it seemed cold.

"We'll figure this all out," she said again.

She hadn't forgotten Anakin's promise to her. _Whatever it takes_.

Typho called her back up to the front of the ship, and she left Rex to drift between consciousness.


End file.
